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AUTHOR: 


ADAMS,  W.H. 

DAVENPORT 


TITLE: 


MERRY  MONARCH;  OR, 
ENGLAND  UNDER... 


PL A CE : 


LONDON 


DA  TE : 


1885 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 

BIBLIOGRAPHIC  MICROFORM  TARGET 


Original  Material  as  Filmed  -  Existing  Bibliographic  Record 


Master  Negative  # 


1942 
Adl 


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Adams,  William  Henry  Davenport,  1828-1891. 

The  merry  monarch;  or,  England  under  Charles  n. 
Its  art,  literature,  and  society.  By  W.  H.  Davenport 
Adams.  In  two  volumes  ...  London,  Remington  &  co., 
1885. 


2  V.    illus.  (music)     22J 
Bibliography :  p.  ii-iii. 


cm 


Restrictions  on  Use: 


1.  Cl.  Brit.— History— Charles  ir,  1660-1685.    2.  Gt.  Brit.— Social  life  and 
customs.    3.  Gt.  Brit. — Intellectual  life.        i.  Title. 


Title  from  Y.M.C.A.,N.Y. 


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THE   MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR, 


ENGLAND   UNDER   CHARLES   IL 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR, 


ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  IL 


j 


ITS     ART,    LITERATURE,    AND     SOCIETY. 


BY 


W.    H.     DAVENPORT    ADAMS 


it 


IN   TWO   VOLUMES. 


.'     /VC'L.     I.    .  -  .  • 


LCNDOM : 
REMINGTON    &    CO.,     PUBLISHERS, 

HENRIETTA  STREET,   COVENT    GARDEN. 

1885. 
[^All  Rights  Reserved.'] 


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ERRATA. 


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Page  12,  line  13,  read  "  seventeenth"  for  "nineteenth." 

22,    „     16,  for  "  glad  "  read  "  gold.'* 

38,  last  line,  for  "  masts  "  read  "  coasts." 

58,  line  17,  read  "  1st  of  January,  1660." 

„     „    29,  for  "  Bunche"  read  "  Buncle." 

64,  note,  for  "  Palngamio  "  read  "  Palla-maglio.'* 

91,  line  1,  for  "  ware  "  read  "  were." 
•  94,    „     4,  for  "  SchoUing  "  read  "  Schelling." 
124,    „     13,  for  «  Cicli "  read  "  Caeli." 
144,  last  line,  for  "  their  "  read  "  thin." 

148,  line  17,  for  "Clarendon  Falkland"  read  "  Clarendon's  Falkland." 
165,  line  11,  for  "  The  Evening's  "  read  "  An  Evening's." 
213,    „     28,  f or  "  Ather  "  read  "  Uther." 
237,    „    25,  for  "  force  "  read  "  farce." 
243,  last  line  but  four,  "  Leonard"  is  also  given  as  "  Leanerd." 

,,  „  „        for  "  Counterf eite  "  read  "  Counterfeits." 

259,  line  20,  for  "  worthy  "  read  "  woolly." 
272,    „    26,  for  "if  "read  "of." 
282,    „    9,  for  "Menandu"  read  "  Menander.*' 


•  • 


PREFACE. 


These  volumes  are  designed  to  furnish  the  reader  with 
a  comprehensive  and  readable  sketch  of  Society  and 
Literature  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second.  They 
will  be  found  to  deal  with  its  diarists  and  poets,  its 
dramatists  and  actors,  its  courtiers  and  musicians,  its 
theologians  and  essayists,  not,  indeed,  with  any  attempt 
at  exhaustive  criticism,  but  with  a  view  to  present  their 
salient  characteristics,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  indicate 
and  illustrate  the  fertile  intellectual  activity  of  the  period. 
It  has  been  no  part  of  my  plan  to  intrude  upon  the  pro- 
vince of  the  historian,  and  therefore  these  pages  contain 
few  references  to  statesmen  or  soldiers,  diplomatists  or 
politicians — the  men  who  make  history— or  to  historical 
events,  except  (in  one  or  two  instances)  as  regards  their 
social  aspects.  Something,  however,  is  said  about  the 
Court  of  Charles  the  Second ;  about  the  Beauties  and  the 
Wits  to  whom  it  owes  its  dubious  reputation.  I  am 
conscious  that  in  this  branch  of  my  subject  a  writer  must 
necessarily  "  skate  upon  thin  ice ;  '^  but  I  have  been  care- 
ful, I  hope,  to  respect  the  just  susceptibilities  of  the 


PREFACE. 


PREFACE. 


Ill 


f 


I 


reader,  and  to  introduce  no  particulars  with  which  the 
most  fastidious  can  reasonably  iind  fault.      Originally  it 
was  my  object  to  have  included  within  my  survey  the 
social  condition  of  the  English  people  generally,  and  of 
the  squire  and  the  citizen,  the  parish  priest  and  the 
peasant  particularly-to  have  offered  some  illustrations 
of  manners  and  customs  and  of  domestic  life ;  but  a  serious 
illness  compelled  me  to  forego  this  intention,  and,  so  far, 
my  book  is  incomplete.     But  I  trust  it  contains  in  itself 
enough  to  interest  and  entertain  the  reader,  and  to  render 
it  acceptable  as  an  introduction  to  the  study  of  a  very  re- 
markable period  of  our  national  life.     It  is  the  result  of 
the  labour  of  many  months ;  and  the  occasional  critical 
expressions  which  it  embodies  are  at  least  the  product  of 
independent  judgment  and  careful  examination,  though, 
as  I  have  hinted,  they  do  not  pretend  to  be  exhaustive. 

A  work  of  this  kind,  however  limited  in  scope  or  unpre- 
tending  in  execution,  must  necessarily  be  based  upon  a 
large  number  of  authorities.  But  from  many,  perhaps, 
only  a  suggestion  has  been  caught  or  an  illustration  bor- 
rowed, and  it  is  not  possible  to  make  these  the  subject  of 
particular  reference. 

To  others  I  have  been  more  liberally  indebted,  and  I 
hope  I  have  included  them  in  the  foUowing  Ust :— Samuel 
Pepys,  Diary,  edit,  by  Bright ;  John  Evkltn,  Memoirs, 
comprising  his  Diary,  from  1641  to  1706,  ed.  by  Bray;  Sir 
J.  Eeeesby,   Travels  and  Memoirs;  Geeard  Lanqbaine, 
Account  of  the  English  Dramatic  Poets ;  Bakee,  Biographia 
Dramatica,  ed.  by  Reed  and    Jones;    Downes,   Roseius 
Analicanus ;  Collet  Cibbee,  Apohgy  for  His  Ovm  Life,  ed, 
1740;  Jeeemy  Collier,  Immorality  and  Profaneness  of  tke 
English  Stage;   Life   of  Betterton;    Peter  Cunningham, 


Nell  Gwynn ;  Dr.  Doran,  Their  Majesties'  Servants;  P. 
Geneste,  Account  of  the  English  Stage,  1660-1820,  ed. 
ten  vols.,  1832 ;  Jesse,  Memoirs  of  the  Court  of  England 
during  the  Reigns  of  the  Stuarts ;  Count  Hamilton, 
Memoirs  of  Count  de  Grammont ;  Mrs.  Jameson,  Beauties 
of  the  Court  of  Charles  II. ;  Dr.  Bueney,  History  of  Music, 
4to  ed. ;  Hawkins,  History  of  Music ;  Life  of  Purcell ; 
Henri  Taine,  History  of  English  Literature;  Dr.  Johnson, 
Lives  of  the  Poets;  T.  Arnold,  The  English  Poets;  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  Life  of  Dryden  and  Biographies  of  Novel- 
ists ;  G.  Saintsbury,  Dryden' s  Works,  with  Life  and  Notes  ; 
Professor  Masson,  lyt/e  of  John  Milton;  B.  H.  E.  Cape- 
FiGUE,  La  Duchesse  de  Portsmouth;  Clarendon;  Lin- 
gard;  Macaulay;  J.  R.  Green;  Herrick,  Poetical 
Worhs,  edit,  by  Maitland ;  Abraham  Cowley,  Works,  ed. 
1707;  Samuel  Butler,  Hudibras,  edit,  by  Gray;  Sir 
Thomas  Browne,  Works,  edit,  by  S.  Wilkin;  Principal 
TuLLocH,  History  of  Rational  Theology ;  Dr.  Henry  More, 
Philosophical  Writings,  4th  edit.,  1712;  Rev.  J.  Hunt, 
History  of  Religious  Thought;  Bishop  Burnett,  History  of 
My  Own  Time  ;  Life  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  by  Keble  ; 
Life  of  Bishop  Ken,  by  a  Layman;  Richard  Baxter, 
Narrative  of  the  Most  Memorable  Passage  of  my  Life  and 
Times  ;  Life  of  William  Penn,  by  Hefworth  Dixon  ;  &c., 

&c. 

W.  H.  D.  A. 


■^*! 


I 


f 


!■   I»! 


#■ 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  I.— The   Diarists. 


Chapter  II. — The  Musicians. 


# 


Chapter  III. — The  Dramatic  Authors. 


*■* 


Chapter  IV.— The   Duchesses. 


Chapter  V.— -John  Dryden. 


Appendix  A. — The  Siege  op  Rhodes. 


Appendix  B.— The  Man  op  Mode. 


Appendix. — Chapter  III. 


J 


THE  DIAEISTS. 


John  Evelyn.     Samuel  Pepts. 


I    ! 


I 


III 

III 


CHAPTER  I. 


THE    DIABIBTS. 

Not  a  little  valuable  and  interesting  information  respect- 
ing the  inner  life  of  England  during  the  Restoration 
period,  and  many  important  particulars  in  illustration  of 
current  events  and  historical  personages,  we  owe  to  the 
diary  of  Mr.  John  Evelyn.  It  has  its  significance  also  as  a 
revelation  of  character.  It  shows  its  author  to  have  been  a 
man  of  sound  judgment  and  cpnsiderable  powers  of  obser- 
vation and  analysis ;  a  man  honest  and  truthful  to  the  core, 
and  with  many  generous  sympathies,  though  not  exempt 
from  narrow  partialities  and  prejudices;  a  man  with  some 
pretensions  to  culture,  with  a  love  of  scholarship  and 
scientific  inquiry,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  man  of  sincere 
devotional  temper  and  unaffected  piety.  In  painting  a 
picture  of  the  England  of  Charles  II.,  we  are  apt  to 
crowd  the  canvas  with  the  glittering  figures  of  courtiers 
and  beauties,  wits,  gaUants,  and  frail  nymphs,  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  those  soberer  persons  who  constituted  the  real 
bulk  of  the  English  people.  But  it  is  important  to  remem- 
ber that  the  age  and  country  which  produced  and  toler- 

VOL.   I.  ^ 


i 


4  THE   MEEET  MONAECH  ; 

ated  a  Eocliester  and  a  BucMngliam,  also  produced  a  Jolin 
Evelyn,  and  that  lie  may  fairly  be  taken  as  a  type  of  the 
English  gentry  of  that  quiet,  orderly,  but  influential 
class,  who,  in  the  next  reign,  so  successfully  won  the 
victory  of  religious  and  civU  Uberty  against  the  subtle 
and  insidious  efforts  of  the  Crown. 

John  Evelyn  was  bom  at  his  father's  seat,  Wotton,  in 
Surrey,  on  the  31st  of  October,  1620.    He  received  his 
earlier  education  at  Lewes  Grammar  School,  and  com- 
pleted it  at  BalHol  College,  Oxford.   Thence  he  removed  to 
London  to  learn  a  little  law  as  a  student  in  the  Middle 
Temple,  and  soon  afterwards  served  as  a  volunteer  in  an 
EngUsh  regiment  during  a  brief  campaign  in  Flanders. 
Like  many  other  young  men  of  good  birth  and  estate,  he 
inclined  towards  the  Eoyal  party  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  War,  but  failing  to  overtake  the  King's  army  on  its 
maxch  to  Gloucester,  after  the  battle  of  Brentford,  he  re- 
tired to  Wotton,  where,  safe  from  the  tumult  and  disorder 
of  public  albiis,  he  devoted  himself  to  his  favourite  pur- 
Biiits.    He  had  two  strong  tastes,  which  influenced  his 
wlmie  life,  for  books  and  flowers.    To  enjoy  the  former,  he 
built  himself  a  study ;  to  grmtiiy  the  latter,  he  embelHiiiiftA 
Ms  grounds  with  blooming  paiierres  and  leafy  grovea. 
Meanwhile,  the  great  straggle  between  the  King  and  tlie 
P^iiiament  increased  in  intensity  and  widened  its  area. 
Evelyn,  happy  in  his  rural  retirement,  was  fain  to  let  the 
stress  and  storm  pass  unheeded,  for  he  was  unable  to  side 
exclusively  with  either  party,  and  he  felt  unfitted  to  make 
any  conspicuous  figure  in  the  noisy  theatre  of  public  life. 
But  the  Parliament  put  a  strong  pressure  upon  him  to 
declare  himself,  and  to  escape  from  it  he  withdrew  to  the 
Continent. 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II.  5 

During  his  travels   in  France  and   Italy,   he    found 
numerous  opportunities  of  prosecuting  his  researches  in 
natural  philosophy,  a  branch  of  scientific  inquiry  which 
greatly  interested  him.     At  Paris  he  was  hospitably  re- 
ceived by  Sir  Richard  Browne,  Charles  II.'s  ambassador  to 
the  French  Court ;  and  to  his  daughter,  a  maiden  of  con- 
siderable personal  gifts  and  rare  accomplishments,  he  was 
married  on  the  24th  of  June,  1647,  when  she  was  scarcely 
fifteen  years  of  age.     In  the  following  September  he  was 
compelled  to  return  to  England  to  settle  his  aff'airs,  which, 
during  his  five  years'  absence,  had  become  somewhat  in- 
volved, and  he  left  his  young  wife  under  the  care  of  an 
excellent  lady  and  prudent  mother.     It  was  not  until  the 
early  days  of  August,  1849,  that  he  was  able  to  rejoin  her 

in  Paris. 

In  the  spring  of  1652  he  returned  to  England,  which 
had  settled  down  quietly  under  the  Commonwealth  Govern- 
ment, and  prepared  to  take  up  his  residence  at  Sayes 
Court,  near  Deptford,  which  had  come  to  him  by  right  of 
his  wife.    "  I  went  to  Deptford,"  he  writes,  ''  where  I 
made   preparation  lor  my  settlement,  no  more  intending 
to  pi  out  of  England,  but  endeavour  a  settled  lifi^  eiOier 
in  this  or  HHiie  other  place,  there  being  now  so  little  ap- 
pearance 4rf  any  change  for  the  better,  all  being  entirety 
in  the  rebels'  hands,  and  tins  pajlicular  habitation  and 
the  estate  contiguous  to  it  (belonging  to  my  father-in- 
law,  actuaUy  in  His  Majesty's  service)  very  much  suffiar- 
ing  for  want  of  some  friend  to  rescue  it  out  of  the  power 
of  the  usurpers,  so  as  to  preserve  an  interest,  and  take 
some  care  of  my  other  concerns.''    He  was  joined  by  his 
wife  in  the  following  June,  and  on  the  24th  of  August 
was  born  their  first  child,  a  son. 


4  THE   MIEET  MOH ABCH  ; 

ated  a  Rocliester  and  a  Buckingliam,  also  produced  a  John 
E?eljii,  and  tbat  he  may  fairly  be  taken  as  a  type  of  the 
English  gentry  of  that  quiet,  orderly,  but  inEuential 
okti,  who,  in  the  next  reign,  so  successfully  won  the 
victory  of  religious  and  civil  liberty  against  the  subtle 
and  insidious  efforts  of  the  Crown. 

John  Evelyn  was  bom  at  his  father's  seat,  Wotton,  in 
Surrey,  on  the  31  st  of  October,  1620.    lie  received  his 
®«rlier  education  at  Lewes  Grammar  School,  and  com- 
pleted it  at  Balliol  College,  Oxford.  Thence  he  removed  ta 
London  to  learn  a  little  law  as  a  student  in  the  Middle 
Temple,  and  soon  afterwards  served  as  a  volunteer  in  an 
English  regiment  during  a  brief  campaign  in  Flanders. 
Like  many  other  young  men  of  good  birth  and  estate,  he 
inclined  towards  the  Royal  party  at  the  outbreak  of  the 
Civil  War,  but  failing  to  overtake  the  King's  army  on  its 
march  to  Gloucester,  after  the  battle  of  Brentford,  he  re- 
tired to  Wotton,  where,  safe  from  the  tumult  and  disorder 
of  public  affairs,  he  devoted  himself  to  his  favourite  pur- 
suits.    He   had  two  strong  tastes,  which  influenced  his 
whole  life,  for  books  and  flowers.    To  enjoy  the  former,  be 
built  himself  a  study  ;  to  gratify  the  latter,  he  embellished 
his   grounds  with  blooming  parterres  and  leafy   groves. 
Meanwhile,  the  great  struggle  between  the  King  and  the 
Parliament  increased  in   intensity  and  widened  its  area.. 
Evelyn,  happy  in  his  rural  retirement,  was  fain  to  let  the 
stress  and  storm  pass  unheeded,  for  he  was  unable  to  side 
exclusively  with  either  party,  and  he  felt  unfitted  to  make 
any  conspicuous  figure  in  the  noisy  theatre  of  public  life. 
But  the  Parliament  put  a  strong  pressure  upon  him  to 
declare  himself,  and  to  escape  from  it  he  withdrew  to  the 
Continent. 


During  his  travels   in  Prance   and   Italy,   he    found 
numerous  opportunities  of  prosecuting  his  researches  in 
natural  philosophy,  a  branch  of  scientific  inquiry  which 
greatly  interested  him.     At  Paris  he  was  hospitably  re- 
ceived by  Sir  Richard  Browne,  Charles  II.^s  ambassador  to 
the  French  Court ;  and  to  his  daughter,  a  maiden  of  con- 
siderable personal  gifts  and  rare  accomplishments,  he  was 
married  on  the  24th  of  June,  1647,  when  she  was  scarcely 
fifteen  years  of  age.     In  the  following  September  he  was 
compelled  to  return  to  England  to  settle  his  affairs,  which, 
during  his  ^ve  years'  absence,  had  become  somewhat  in- 
volved, and  he  left  his  young  wife  under  the  care  of  an 
excellent  lady  and  prudent  mother.      It  was  not  until  the 
early  days  of  August,  1849,  that  he  was  able  to  rejoin  her 

in  Paris. 

In  the  spring  of  1652  he  returned  to  England,  which 
had  settled  down  quietly  under  the  Commonwealth  Govern- 
ment, and  prepared  to  take  up  his  residence  at  Sayes 
Court,  near  Deptford,  which  had  come  to  him  by  right  of 
his  wife.     "  I  went  to  Deptford/'  he  writes,  "  where  I 
made    preparation  for  my  settlement,  no  more  intending 
to  go  out  of  England,  but  endeavour  a  settled  life,  either 
in  this  or  some  other  place,  there  being  now  so  little  ap- 
pearance of  any  change  for  the  better,  all  being  entirely 
in  the  rebels'  hands,  and  this  particular  habitation  and 
the  estate  contiguous  to  it  (belonging  to  my  father-in- 
law,  actually  in  His  Majesty's  service)  very  much  suffer- 
ing  for  want  of  some  friend  to  rescue  it  out  of  the  power 
of  the  usurpers,  so  as  to  preserve  an  interest,  and  take 
some  care  of  my  other  concerns."    He  was  joined  by  his 
wife  in  the  following  June,  and  on  the  24th  of  August 
was  born  their  first  child,  a  son. 


« 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


When  the  Parliament  confiscated  the  estates  of  Sir 
Richard  Browne  as  those  of  a  Koyalist  and  "  malignant," 
Evelyn  obtained  permission  to  purchase  Sayes  Court.  His 
cnltivatL'd  mind  so  recoiled  from  the  turmoil  and  conten- 
tion which  then  vexed  the  public  life  of  England  that  he 
suggested  to  his  friend,  Eobert  Boyle,  the  establishment 
of  a  "  college,"  or  retreat,  within  twenty-five  miles  of 
London,  where  the  friends  of  science  and  the  votaries  of 
philosophy  might  find  an  asylum  in  the  fallentis  semita 
viiw  from  the  evil  influences  of  the  time  and  the  rude 
pressure  of  hostile  circumstances.  These,  however,  did 
but  little  afFecfc  himself,  for  his  moderation  of  character 
and  equability  of  temper  had  secured  him  friends  in  the 
Court  of  Cromwell.  The  worst  that  befell  him  he  notes 
in  his  diary,  under  the  date  of  December  25th,  1657  : — 

"  I  went  to  London  with  my  wife,"  he  writes,  "  to  cele- 
brate Christmas  Day,  Mr.  Gunning  preaching  in  Exeter 
Chapel  on  Micah  vii.,  2.  Sermon  ended,  as  he  was  giving 
TLB  the  Holy  Sacrament,  the  chapel  was  surrounded  with 
soldiers,  and  all  the  communicants  and  assembly  surprised 
and  kept  prisoners  by  them — some  in  the  house,  others 
carried  away.  It  fell  to  my  share  to  be  confined  to  a  room 
in  the  house,  where  yet  I  was  permitted  to  dine  with  the 
master  of  it,  the  Countess  of  Dorset,  Lady  Hatton,  and 
some  others  of  quality  who  invited  me.  In  the  afternoon 
came  Colonel  Whalley,  Goffe,  and  others  from  Whitehall, 
to  examine  us  one  by  one ;  some  they  committed  to  the 
Marshal,  some  to  prison.  When  I  came  before  them, 
they  took  my  name  and  abode,  examined  me  why,  con- 
trary to  the  ordinance  made,  that  none  should  any  longer 
observe  the  superstitious  time  of  the  Nativity  (so  esteemed 
by  them),  I  durst  offend,  and  particularly  be  at  Common 


I 


i 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  7 

Prayers,  which  they  told  me  was  but  the  Mass  in  English, 
and  particularly  pray  for  Charles  Stuart,  for  which  we  had 
no  Scripture.     I  told  them  we  did  not  pray  for  Charles 
Stuart,  but  for  all  Christian  kings,  princes,  and  governors. 
They  replied,  in  so  doing  we  prayed  for  the  King  of  Spain 
too,  who  was  their  enemy  and  a  Papist,  with  other  frivo- 
lous and  ensnaring  questions,  and  much  threatening ;  and, 
finding  no  colour  to  detain  me,  they  dismissed  me  with 
much  pity  of  my  ignorance.     These  were  men  of  high 
flight,  and  above  ordinances,  and  spake  spiteful  things  of 
our  Lord's  Nativity.      As  we  went  up  to  receive  the 
Sacrament,  the  miscreants  held  their  muskets  against  us, 
as  if  they  would  have  shot  us  at  the  altar,  but  yet  suffer- 
ino-  us  to  finish  the  office  of  communion,  as,  perhaps,  not 
having  instructions  what  to  do  in  case  they  found  us  m 
that  action.     So  I  got  home  late  the  next  day.    Blessed 

be  God ! " 

A  month  later,  and  Evelyn  experienced  his  first  great 
domestic  sorrow  in  the  loss  of  his  eldest  son,  Eichard,  a 
boy  of  five  years  old,  of  whose  remarkable  parts  and 
many  childish  graces  he  has  drawn  a  beautiful  portrait. 
It  is  difficult,  perhaps,  to  believe  that  at  so  tender  an  age 
the  child  could  have  been  such  a  prodigy  for  wiii  and 
■understanding,  such  a  very  angel  for  beauty  of  body,  and 
such  a  wonder  for  mental  endowments  as  his  father  repre- 
sents  him.  Allowance  must  be  made,  no  doubt,  for  the 
warmth  of  colouring  natural  to  parental  affection ;  but 
even  then  it  is  clear  enough  that  he  was  signally  worthy 
of  the  love  which  was  poured  out  upon  him  so  lavishly. 

"To  give  but  a  taste  of  his  quality,"  says  Evelyn, 
"  and  thereby  glory  to  God,  who  '  out  of  the  mouths  of 
babes  and  infants  does  sometimes  perfect  His  praises,'  he 


1 


i 


8 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


had  learned  all  his  Catechism  ;  at  two  years  and  a  half 
old  he  could  perfectly  read  any  of  the  English,  Latin, 
French,  or  Gothic  letters,  pronouncing  the  three  first 
languages  exactly.  In  grammar,  both  English  and  Latin, 
he  had,  by  his  fifth  year,  made  great  progress,  could  write 
legibly,  and  had  a  strong  passion  for  Greek.  The  number 
of  verses  he  could  recite  was  prodigious,  and  he  was  ac- 
customed to  act  the  parts  of  such  plays  as  he  remembered. 
On  one  occasion,  observing  a  copy  of  Plautus  in  a  friend's 
hand,  he  asked  what  book  it  was,  and  when  told  it  was 
too  difficult  for  him,  bui'st  into  tears.  Strange  was  his 
apt  and  ingenious  application  of  fables  and  their  morals, 
for  he  had  read  JEsop  to  good  purpose.  His  mathematical 
capacity  was  wonderful;  he  had  by  heart  several  of 
Euclid's  propositions  which  had  simply  been  read  to  him 
in  play,  and  would 'make  lines'  and  demonstrate  them. 
But  the  most  pleasing  feature  of  his  character  was  his 
earnest  and  unaffected  piety ;  he  had  a  lively  sense  of  the 
power  and  goodness  and  mercy  of  God,  and  of  the  re- 
deeming work  of  Christ.  Astonishing  were  his  applica- 
tions of  Scripture  upon  occasion ;  he  had  learned  all  his 
Catechism  early,  and  acquired  an  intelligent  knowledge 
of  the  Bible.  Nor  did  he  fail  to  understand  his  own  re- 
sponsibility ;  that,  knowing  what  he  did,  he  must  take 
upon  himself  the  promises  which  his  godfathers  had 
made  on  his  behalf  at  his  baptism." 

During  his  illness  he  behaved  with  a  composure  and  a 
sweetness  of  temper  and  a  patience  which  would  have 
done  honour  to  an  aged  Christian.  He  would  of  himself 
select  the  most  pathetic  psalms  and  chapters  out  of  Job 
to  read  to  the  maid  who  waited  on  him ;  and  when  she 
used  any  expressions  of   pity,  he  would  reply,  that  all 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  ^ 

God's   children  must   suffer  affliction.     "He   declaimed 
against  the  vanities  of   the  world    before   he  had  seen 
any,"  says  his  father,  so  that  the  declamation  must  have 
been   somewhat  unreal  and  superfluous.     He  would  ask 
those  who  came  to  see  him  to  pray  by  him.     The  day 
before  his  death  he  called  his  father  to  his  side,  and,  with 
much  seriousness,  told  him  that  he  must  give  house  and 
land  and  all  his  possessions  to  his  younger  son,  John,  for 
that  he,  Richard,  would  have  none  of  them.     Next  morn- 
ino-  beino-  very  ill,  he  was  persuaded  to  keep  his  hands 
under  the  bedclothes,  whereupon  he  asked,  with  a  natural 
touch  of  childish  simplicity,  whether  he  might  pray  to 
God  with  his  hands  unfolded.     Shortly  afterwards,  as  his 
sufferings  became  severer,  he  inquired  whether  he  should 
not  offend  God  by  using  His  holy  name  so  often  in  calling 
for  ease.     His   parents,   watching  by  his  bedside,  were 
moved  to  tears  by  his  frequent  pathetic  ejaculations.  And 
so  he  passed  away  from  a  world  in  which  he  could  not 
have  tarried  longer  without  receiving  some  stain  or  blot 
on  the  whiteness  of  his  childish  soul. 

Deep  and  strong  as  was  Evelyn's  sorrow,  he  did  not 
permit  it  to  interrupt  his  literary  pursuits  or  to  deaden 
his  interest  in  the  welfare  of  his  country.  He  published 
translations  from  Lucretius  and  St.  Chrysostom,  and  his 
horticultural  tastes  found  expression  in  "The  French 
Gardener."  In  1659  he  issued  what  he  himself  calls  his 
«  bold  "  "  Apology  for  the  Eoyal  Party,"  and  a  vigorous 
reply  to  an  attack  upon  Charles  II.,  which  he  entitled, 
"  The  Late  News,  or  Message  from  Brussels  Unmasked." 
It  is  a  signal  tribute  to  his  high  character,  and  a  proof  of 
the  respect  it  commanded,  that,  though  well-known  to  be 
a  Eoyahst,  he  was  left  unmolested  during  the  Common- 


1 


10 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


11 


wealth  period.  His  long  life  covered  the  stirring  and 
chequered  times  of  the  Civil  War,  the  Eestoration,  and 
the  Bevolution ;  yet,  though  he  never  abandoned  a  con- 
scientious opinion,  nor  stooped  to  adulation  of  the  ruling 
powers,  he  sustained  no  injury  in  person  or  property. 
This  fact  may  also  be  accepted  as  evidence  of  the  com- 
paratively slight  social  dislocation  occasioned  by  the 
changes  in  the  government  of  the  country.  Evelyn's 
friendships,  we  may  add,  included  men  of  all  parties  in 
Church  and  State,  who  were  prompt  to  admire  the 
honourable  consistency  with  which  he  adhered  to  his 
own  principles,  while  extending  an  enlightened  and  a 
liberal  tolerance  to  those  of  others.  On  the  whole,  it 
may  fairly  be  said  that  a  young  Englishman  cannot  do 
better  than  bear  in  his  mind  the  example  of  Evelyn,  as 
containing  nothing  but  what  is  imitable,  and  nothing  but 
what  is  good.  All  persons,  indeed,  may  find  in  his  char- 
acter something  worthy  of  imitation  ;  but  for  an  English 
gentleman  he  is,  as  Southey  says,  the  perfect  model. 

In  one  of  his  letters  to  the  poet  Cowley,  who  had  made 
for  himself,  at  Chertsey,  a  retreat  from  the  busy  world, 
whence  he  professed  to  regard,  in  the  Lucretian  spirit,  the 
magnum  mare  of  its  passions  and  ambitions,  Evelyn 
writes  :  "  I  pronounce  it  to  you  from  my  heart  as  oft  as 
I  consider  it,  that  I  look  on  your  fruitions  with  inexpres- 
sible emulation,  and  should  think  myself  more  happy 
than  crowned  heads  were  I,  as  you,  the  arbiter  of  mine 
own  life,  and  could  break  from  those  gilded  toys  to  taste 
your  well-described  joys  with  such  a  wife  and  such  a 
friend,  whose  conversation  exceeds  all  that  the  mistaken 
world  calls  happiness."  Such  may,  at  times,  have  been 
Evelyn's  private  aspiration,  but  he  fully  recognized  it  to 


be  the  duty  of  every  citizen  to  undertake  such  service  as 
the   commonwealth  may  impose  upon  him ;  and,  indeed, 
in  his  '' Public  Employment,  and  an  Active  Life,   Pre- 
ferred to  Solitude  and  All  Its  Appendages,"  a  reply  to  Sir 
George  Mackenzie's  well-known  panegyric  on  Solitude,  he 
very  forcibly  presses  the  argument  in   favour  of  active 
intercourse  with  the  world  as  a  means  of  doing  good.    As 
he  taught,  so  he  practised.     He  held  a  succession  of  re- 
sponsible  and  laborious  posts  which  did  not  carry  with 
them  any  great  distinction  or  considerable  emoluments ; 
those  posts  in  which  an  honest  man  may  serve  his  country 
unobtrusively,  but   eflPectively.      In    1662,   we   find   him 
appointed  a  Commissioner  for  reforming  the  ways,  streets, 
and  buildings  of  London.     In  1664,  he  was  on  a  Commis- 
sion for  reorganizing  and  regulating  the  Mint ;   and  in 
the  same  year  was  chosen  one  of  the  Commissioners  for 
the  care  of  the  sick  and  wounded  in  the  Dutch  Wars.    He 
was  also  on  the   Commission  for  the  repair  of  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  whose  labours  were  rendered  unnecessary  by  the 
destruction  of  the  Cathedral  in  the  Great  Eire  of  1666. 
In  the  same  year  we  find  him  engaged  on  a  Commission 
for  regulating  the  manufacture  of  saltpetre  ;  and  in  1671, 
he  appears   as    a   Commissioner   of  Plantations  on  the 
establishment   of    that  Board,   to  which,  in   1672,   was 
added  the  Council  of  Trade.     In  1685,  the  last  year  of 
Charles  II.'s  reign,  he  acted  as  one  of  the  Commissioners 
of  the  Privy   Seal   during   the  absence  of   the   Earl  of 
Clarendon  in  Ireland.     On  the  foundation  of  Greenwich 
Hospital,  in  1695,  he  was  appointed  a  Commissioner ;  and 
on  the  30th  of  June,  1696,  laid  the  first  stone  of  the 
stately  pile  which  commemorates  Queen  Mary's  patriotic 
interest  in  the  mariners  of  England.     He  was  also  ap- 


12 


THE   MEERY   MONAECH  ; 


OE,   ENGLAND   TTNDER   CHAELES   II. 


13 


pointed  to  tlie  Treasurerstip,  worth  £200  a  year,  but  lie 
tells  us  that  a  long  time  elapsed  before  he  received  any 
portion  of  his  salary. 

There  can  be  no   doubt  that  in   these  various  pubhc 
capacities  he  did  the  State  good  service,  not  only  by  the 
industrious  exercise    of   his    administrative  talents,  but 
by  the  splendid  example  he  set  of  disinterestedness  and 
integrity,    and     the    true    patriotic   spirit.      Still  more 
valuable,  however,  was  the  result  of  his  literary  labours ; 
especially  that  ''  Diary ''  of  his,  which  has  not  only  an 
historical  importance,  but  is  deeply  interesting  as  a  vivid 
picture  of  certain  phases  of  the  social  life  of  England  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  nineteenth  century.    It  is  in  connection 
with  this  ''  Diary  "  that  his  name  is  chiefly  celebrated.  It 
differs  greatly  from  that  of  garrulous  Pepys— it  is  graver, 
more  earnest,  is  less  crowded  with  personal  details  ;   has 
in  it  more  of  the  judicious   historian,    and  less   of   the 
scandalous  gossiper.      Naturally,  the  two  Diaries  differ 
exactly  in  those  points  in  which  the  characters  of  the  two 
writers  differed.  Much  that  Evelyn  revered  Pepys  despised 
or  io-nored ;  and  what  interested  Pepys  had  no  attraction 
for  the  serious  Evelyn.     The  latter  had  no  curiosity ;  the 
former  was  the  Paul  Pry  of  diarists,  going  everywhere, 
seeing   everything,  and  inquiring  about  everybody.     He 
was  as  graphic  as  a  modern  reporter,  as  inquisitive  as  an 
American  interviewer.     But  Evelyn  is  always  the  sedate 
and  scholarly  gentleman,  who  regards  men  and  manners 
from  an  elevated  standpoint.     He  wrote  his  ''  Diary,"  as 
it  were,  in  full  dress,  in  the  leisure  and  lettered  seclusion 
of  his  library ;   Pepys  jotted    down   his    ciphers   in  the 
privacy  of  his  chamber,  with  his  wig  thrown  off,  and  his 
hose  down  at  heel.     The  two  resemble  each  other  only  in 
their  zeal  for  the  public  service. 


Upon  his  literary  work,  as  a  whole,  we  may  adopt  the 
criticism  of  the  elder  Disraeli :  "  His  manner  of  arranging 
his  materials,  and  his  mode  of  composition,  appear  excel- 
lent.   Having  chosen  a  subject,  he  analysed  it  into  his 
various  parts,  under  certain  heads,  or  titles,  to  be  filled 
up  at  leisure.    Under  these  heads  he  set  down  his  own 
thoughts  as  they  occurred,  occasionally  inserting  whatever 
was  useful  from  his  reading.     When  his  collections  were 
thus  formed,  he  digested  his  own  thoughts  regularly,  and 
strengthened    them    by   authorities    from    ancient   and 
modern   authors,   or   alleged  his  reasons  for   dissenting 
from  them.     His  collections  in  time  became  voluminous, 
but  he  then  exercised  that  judgment  which  the  framers 
of  such  collections  are  usually  deficit  in.     With  Hesiod 
he  knew  that  '  half  is  better  than  the  whole,'  and  it  was 
his  aim  to  express  the  quintessence  of  his  reading,  but 
not  to  give  it  in  a  crude  state  to  the  world,  and  when  his 
treatises  were  sent  to  the  press,  they  were  not  half  the 
size  of  his  collections." 

Next  to  his  ''  Diary,"  his  most  valuable  composition  is 
the  famous  "  Sylva ;  or,  a  Discourse  of  Forest  Trees,  and 
the  Propagation  of  Timber  in  His  Majesty's  Dominions," 
in  which    an   enormous    number   of  useful   details   and 
valuable  facts  have  been  felicitously  arranged  and  admir- 
ably condensed.      It  was  written  in  consequence  of  an 
application  to  the  Eoyal  Society,  of  which  Evelyn  was 
one  of  the  founders,  by  the  Commissioners  of  the  Navy, 
who   dreaded   a  scarcity  of  timber  in  the  country.     Its 
effect  was  immediate,  and  a  national  benefit.    In  the 
dedication  to  Charles  H.,  prefixed  to  one  of   the  later 
editions,  its  author   says  :    "  I  need  not  acquaint  your 
Majesty  how    many    millions    of    timber-trees,    besides 
infinite     others,    have    been    propagated    and    planted 


14 


THE   MEERY  MONAECH  ; 


througliout  your  vast  dominions,  at  the  instigation  and 
by  the  sole  direction  of  this  work,  because  your  Majesty 
has  been  pleased  to  own  it  pubUcly  for  my  encourage- 
ment." This  was  a  service  to  his  country  of  which 
Evelyn  might  justly  have  been  proud. 

His  other  writings  include :    "  Fumifugium ;  or,  The 
Air  and  Smoke  of  London  Dissipated"  (1661),  treating 
of  an  evil  which  still  exists,  and  in  an  aggravated  form ; 
"  Sculptura ;  or,  The  History  and  Art  of  Chalcography 
and    Engraving     on    Copper"    (1662);    « Kalendarium 
Hortense;    or,     The     Gardener's     Almanac"     (1664); 
*'  Terra,"    printed    for    the     Eoyal     Society    in    1675 ; 
« Navigation  and   Commerce :  their   History  and   Pro- 
gress "—an    introduction    to   a   History   of    the  Dutch 
War,   written   at   the  request   of   Charles  II.,   but   not 
completed,  probably  because   the   author   insisted   on  a 
straightforward  statement   of  facts   disagreeable  to  the 
King ;    "  Numismata :  a  Learned  Discourse  on  Medals  " 
(1697);  and  ''Aretaria:  a  Discourse  of  Sallets  "   (1699). 
Of  a  lighter  character  was  his  gentle  satire  on  ladies' 
frippery  (in  the  composition  of  which  he  was  assisted  by 
Ms  daughter  Mary),  the   "Mundus  Muliebris ;   or.   The 
Ladies'  Dressing-Eoom  Unlocked,  and  her  Toilette  Spread. 
In  Burlesque.    Together  with  the  Fop  Dictionary,  Com- 
piled for  the  Use  of  the  Fair  Sex." 

At  Sayes  Court,  which  had  long  been  famous  for  its 
graceful  and  gracious  hospitality  to  men  of  science  and 
of  letters  from  all  parts  of  Europe,  Evelyn,  in  1698, 
accommodated  Peter  the  Great,  with  results  which  were 
far  from  satisfactory.  It  was  natural  enough  that  he 
should  be  disgusted  by  the  filthy  habits  of  the  Czar  and 
his  courtiers,  who   filled  the  house  with  people  "  right 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


15 


nasty,"  and  indulged  in  loud  noises  and  bowls  of  brandy. 
The  beautiful    and    "  most    bocaresque   gardens "  they 
injured  grievously  ;  and  it  was  a  favourite  amusement  with 
the  Czar  to  drive  his    wheelbarrow  right  through  the 
holly-hedge  which  was  Evelyn's  joy  and  pride,  and  over 
the  lawns  and  flower-beds  in  which  he  took  so  Innocent 
and  great  a  pleasure.     Of  this  hedge  he  speaks  in  his 
'<Sylva":  *' Is,  there  under  the  heaven  a  more  glorious 
and  refreshing  object  of  the  kind  than  an  impregnable 
hedge  of  about  four  hundred  feet  in  length,  nine  feet 
high,  and  five  in  diameter,  which  I  can  show  in  my  now 
ruined    garden   at  Sayes  Court    (thanks  to   the   Czar  of 
Muscovy),  at  any  time  of   the   year  glittering  with  its 
armed   and  varnished  leaves ;  the    taller    standards    at 
orderly  distances  blushing  with  their  natural  coral?     It 
mocks   the   rudest   assaults   of  the    weather,   beasts,   or 
hedge-breakers — Et  ilium  nemo  impune  lacessit."* 

At  Sayes  Court  Peter,  with  his  barbarous  Muscovites, 
stayed  about  three  months,  taking  his  departure  on  the 
21st  of  April.  For  the  damage  done  by  him  the  Treasury 
allowed  Evelyn  a  compensation  of  £162. 

*  Pepys,  in  his  "  Diary,"  has  some  references  to  Evelyn's  gardens  at  Sayes 

Court :— "  May  5,  1G65.— After  dinner  to  Mr.  Evelyn's;  he  being  abroad,  we 

walked  in  his  garden,  and  a  lovely  noble  ground  he  hath   indeed.     And, 

among  other  rarities,  a  hive  of  bees,  so  as,  being  hived  in  glass,  you  may 

Bee   the   bees    making   their  honey   and    combs   mighty  pleasantly."  .  .  . 

"  Novemler  5.     By  water  to  Deptford,  I  then  made  a  visit  to  Mr.  Evelyn, 

who,  among  other  things,  showed  me  most  excellent  painting  in  tints ;  in 

distemper,  in  Indian  ink,  water-colours,  graving ;  and,  above  all,  the  whole 

secret  of  mezzo-tints,  and  the  manners  of  it,  which  is  very  pretty,  and  good 

things  done  with  it.     He  read  to  me  very  much  also  of  his  discourse,  he  hath 

been  many  years  and  now  is  about,  about  Gardenage ;  which  will  be  a  most 

noble  and  pleasant  piece.     He  read  me  part  of  a  play  or  two  of  his  making, 

very  good,  but  not  as  he  conceits  them,  I  think,  to  be.     He    showed  me  his 

*'  Hortus  Hyemalis,"  leaves  laid  up  in  a  book  of  several,  or  plants  kept  dry, 

which  preserve   colour,    however,  and   look   very    finely,  better    than  an 

Herbal.     A  fine,  a  most  excellent  person  he  is,  and  must  be  allowed  a  little 

for  a  little  conceitednessj  but  he  may  well  be  so,  being  a  mau  so  much 

above  others." 


16 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


On  the  deatli  of  his  elder  brother,  Evelyn  succeeded  to 
the  family  estate  of  Wotton,  in  Surrey,  where  he  indulged 
to  the  full  his  passion  for  gardening  and  planting.     He 
speaks  of  it  in  his  "  Diary  "  with  the  pride   of  a  fond 
affection :    "  The  mansion-house,"  he  says,  "  is   situated 
in  the  most  southern  part  of  the  shire,  and  though  in  a 
valley,  yet  really  upon  part  of  Leith  Hill,  one  of  the  most 
eminent  in  England  for  the  prodigious  prospect  to  be  seen 
from  it  summit.   The  house,  large  and  ancient,  suitable  to 
those  hospitable  times,  and  so   sweetly  environed  with 
delicious  streams  and  venerable  woods,  as,  in  the  judgment 
of  strangers  as  well  as  Englishmen,  it  may  be  compared 
to  one  of  the  most  pleasant  seats  in  the  nation,  and  most 
tempting  for  a  great  person  and  a  wanton  person  to  render 
it  conspicuous.     It  has  rising  grounds,  meadows,  woods, 
and  water  in  abundance.     I  should  speak  much  of  the 
gardens,  fountains,  and  groves  that  adorn  it,  were  they 
not  as  generally  known  to  be  amongst  the  most  natural 
and  (until  this  later  and  universal  luxury  of  the  whole 
nation,   since    abounding    in    such    expanses)    the    most 
magnificent  that  England  afforded,  and  which  indeed  gave 
one  of  the  first  examples  of  that  elegancy  since  so  much 
in  vogue,  and  followed  in  the  management  of  their  waters, 
and  other  ornaments  of  that  nature." 

His  latter  years  Evelyn  spent  very  happily  amidst  the 
Arcadian  pleasures  of  sylvan  Wotton,  with  the  exception 
of  occasional  residences  in  London,  where  he  retained 
a  house.  In  the  Great  Storm  of  1703  (which  both  Defoe 
and  Addison  have  commemorated),  he  notes  that  upwards 
of  200  trees  were  thrown  down  in  his  demesnes,  "  several 
of  which,"  he  says,  "  torn  up  by  their  fall,  raised  mounds 
of  earth  near  20  feet  high,  with  great  stones  entangled 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


17 


among  the  roots  and  rubbish,  and  this  almost  within  sight 
of  my  dwelling,  now  no  more  Wotton  (^.e.,  Wood-town),  but 
stripped  and  naked,  and  almost  ashamed  to  own  its  name." 

Evelyn  died  at  his  London  residence  on  the  27th  of 
February,  1705-6,  and,  in  accordance  with  his  own  re- 
quest, was  interred  at  Wotton,  though  not  in  the  spot  he 
himself  had  indicated.  In  his  will  he  says:  '^I  would 
rather  be  deposited  and  laid  in  a  plain  vault  of  brick, 
with  my  dear  wife,  if  she  thought  fit,  under  the  oval 
circle  of  the  laurel  grove  planted  by  me  at  Wotton,  with 
a  plain  marble  stone,  and  on  it  a  pedestal  of  black  marble, 
bearing  an  urn  of  white  marble,  which  would  be  no  great 
expense ;  otherwise,  let  my  grave  be  in  the  corner  of  the 
dormitory  of  my  ancestors,  near  to  that  of  my  father 
and  pious  mother."  He  does  not  sleep  in  "  the  laurel 
grove,"  but  in  "the  dormitory,"  where  a  coffin-shaped 
tomb  bears  the  following  inscription  : — 

"  Here  lies  the  body  of  John  Evelyn,  Esq,,  of  this 
place,  second  son  of  Eichard  Evelyn,  Esq.,  who,  having 
served  the  Public  in  several  Employments  (of  which  that 
of  Commissioner  of  the  Privy  Seal  in  the  reign  of  King 
James  the  Second  was  most  honourable),  and  perpetuated 
his  fame  by  far  more  lasting  Monuments  than  those  of 
Stone  or  Brass,  his  learned  and  useful  Works,  fell  asleep 
the  27th  day  of  February,  1705-6,  being  the  86th  year 
of  his  age — in  full  hope  of  a  glorious  Eesurrection  throuo-h 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ. 

"  Living  in  an  age  of  extraordinary  Events  and  Eevolu- 
tions,  he  learnt  (as  himself  asserted)  this  Truth,  which, 
pursuant  to  his  intention,  is  here  declared : — That  all 
is  Vanity  which  is  not  Honest,  and  that  there  is  no 
solid  Wisdom  but  in  real  Piety." 

VOL.   I.  c 


18 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


We  proceed  to  select  from  Ms  Diary  some  interesting 
passages  in  illustration  (1)  of  the  writer's  character,  and  (2) 
of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived. 

Here  is  a  description  of  a  scene,  which,  in  its  coarse 
brutality,  was  a  not  altogether  unfitting  prologue  to  the 
tragi-comedy  of  Charles  II.'s  reign.    The  date  is  January 

30th,  1661  :— 

''  [This]  was  the  first  solemn  mass  and  day  of  humilia- 
tion to  deplore  the  sins  which  so  long  had  provoked 
God  against  this  afflicted  church  and  people,  ordered 
by  Parliament  to  be  annually  celebrated  to  expiate  the 
guilt  of  the  execrable  murder  of  the  late  King. 

«  This   day    (0   the   stupendous  and  inscrutable  judg- 
ments  of  God !)   were  the  carcases  of  those  anti-rebels, 
Cromwell,   Bradshaw    (the    judge  who   condemned    His 
Majesty),  and  Ireton  (son-in-law  to  the  usurper)  dragged 
out  of  their  superb   tombs  iu  Westminster,  among  the 
kings,  to  Tyburn,  and  hanged  on  the  gallows  there  from 
nine  'in  the  morning  till  six  at  night,  and  then  buried 
under  that  fatal  and  ignominious   monument  in  a  deep 
pit;   thousands  of  people,  who  had  seen  them  in  all 
their  pride,  being  spectators.      Look  back  at  October 
22nd    1658    [Oliver  CromwelFs  funeral],  and  be  aston- 
ished !  and  fear  God  and  honour  the  King ;  but  meddle 
not  with  them  who  are  given  to  change ! '' 

A  higher  interest  attaches  to  our  next  quotation  :— 
"  1661 :  May  3rd.— I  went  to  see  the  wonderful  engine 
for  weaving  silk  stockings,  said  to  have  been  the  invention 
of  an  Oxford  scholar,  forty  years  since." 

The  credit  of  inventing  the  stocking-frame  is  generally 
attributed  to  William  Lee,  who  is  said  to  have  been  a 
native  of  Woodborough,  near  Nottingham,  a  man  of  good 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDEK  CHAELES  II. 


19 


estate,  and  a  graduate  of  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge. 
According  to  a  picturesque  tradition,  he  invented  the 
knitting  machines  in  1589,  because  a  pretty  girl  with  whom 
he  was  in  love  paid  more  attention  to  her  knitting  than  to 
his  soft  speeches.  It  is,  at  all  events,  a  fact  that,  in  Crom- 
well's time,  the  London  stocking-weavers  petitioned  to  be 
incorporated  as  a  guild ;  and  in  their  petition  they  attach 
the  name  of  Lee  to  the  stocking-frame  as  its  inventor. 

"  Aufrust  9th. — I  tried  several  experiments  on  the  sensi- 
tive  plant  and  Jiumilis,  which  contracted  with  the  least 
touch  of  the  sun  through  a  burning-glass,  though  it  rises 
and  opens  only  when  it  shines  on  it. 

"November  10th. — In  the  afternoon  preached  at  the 
Abbey,  Dr.  Basire,  that  great  traveller,  or  rather  French 
Apostle,  who  had  been  planting  the  Church  of  England 
in  divers  parts  of  the  Levant  and  Asia.  He  showed  that 
the  Church  of  England  was,  for  purity  of  doctrine,  sub- 
stance, decency,  and  beauty,  the  most  perfect  under 
Heaven,  that  England  was  the  very  land  of  Goshen  "  (in- 
cluding, of  course,  Charles  II.' s.  Court,  with  its  gaUants 
and  harlots) . 

^'  November  26th. — I   saw    '  Hamlet,  Prince   of  Den- 
mark,' played ;  but  now  the  old  plays  began  to  disgust 
this  refined  age,  since  His  Majesty's  being  so  long  abroad." 
As  a  commentary  on  Dr.  Basire's  sermon,  take   the 
following : — 

"  January  6th,  1662. — This  evening,  according  to  cus- 
tom, His  Majesty  opened  the  revels  of  that  night  by 
throwing  the  dice  himself  in  the  privy-chamber,  where 
was  a  table  set  on  purpose,  and  lost  his  £100.  (The  year 
before  he  won  £1,500.)  The  ladies  also  played  very  deep. 
I  came  away  when  the  Duke  of  Ormond  had  won  about 


20 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH  ; 


£1,000,  and  left  them  still  at  passage,  cards,  &c.  At 
other  tables,  both  there  and  at  the  Groom-porter's,  ob- 
sei-ving  the  wicked  folly  and  monstrous  excess  of  passion 
amongst  some  losers ;  sorry  am  I  that  such  a  wretched 
custom  as  play  to  that  excess  should  be  countenanced  in  a 
Court,  which  ought  to  be  an  example  of  virtue  to  the  rest 
of  the  kingdom." 

'^February    20th.— This   night  was  buried   in   West- 
minster    Abbey    the     Queen     of    Bohemia    [Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  James  I.],  after  all  her  sorrows  and  afflic- 
tions being  come  to  die  in  the  arms  of  her  nephew,  the 
King :  also  this  night  and  the  next  day  fell  such  a  storm 
of  hail,  thunder,  and  lightning,  as  never  was  seen  the  like 
in  any  man's  memory,  especially   the  tempest  of  wind, 
beinsr  south-west,  which  subverted,  besides  huge  trees, 
many  houses,  innumerable  chimneys  (amongst  others  that 
of  my  parlour  at  Sayes  Court),  and  made  such  havoc  at 
land  and   sea,  that   several  perished  on  both.       Divers 
lamentable  fires  were  also  kindled  at  this  time  ;  so  exceed- 
ingly was  God's  hand  against  this  ungrateful  and  vicious 
nation — and  Court." 

"August  17th.— Being  the  Sunday  when  the  Common 
Prayer  Book,  reformed  and  ordered  to  be  used  for  the 
future,  was  appointed  to  be  read,  and  the  solemn  League 
and  Covenant  to  be  abjured  by  all  the  incumbents  of 
England  under  penalty  of  losing  their  livings." 

Of  the  water-pageants  in  which  our  ancestors  delighted, 

before  the  Thames  became  the  cloaca  maxima  of  a  great 

city,  we  have  a  specimen  under  the  date  of  August  22nd  :— 

"  I  was  spectator  of  the  most  magnificent  triumph^  that 

*  A  general  term  for  public  pagfeants,  shows,  and  processions.  Fre- 
qnently  used  by  Shakespeare :— "  With  triumphs,  mirth,  and  rare  solem- 
Bity     .  ."  "With  stately  triumphs.  .  .  ."  "  Those  triumphs  held  at  Oxford.'' 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


21 


ever  floated  on  the  Thames,  considering  the  innumerable 
boats  and  vessels,  dressed  and  adorned  with  all  imagin- 
able pomp,  but,  above  all,  the  thrones,  arches,  pageants, 
and  other  representations,  stately  barges  of  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  Companies,  with  various  inventions,  music  and 
peals  of  ordnance  both  from  the  vessels  and  the  shores, 
going  to  meet  and  conduct  the  new  Queen  from  Hampton 
Court  to  Whitehall,  at  the  first  time  of  her  coming  to 
town.  In  my  opinion,  it  far  exceeded  all  the  Venetian 
Bucentaras,  &c.,  on  the  Ascension,  when  they  go  to  es- 
pouse the  Adriatic.  His  Majesty  and  the  Queen  came  in 
an  antique-shaped  open  vessel,  covered  with  a  state,  or 
canopy,  of  cloth  of  gold,  made  in  form  of  a  cupola, 
supported  with  high  Corinthian  pillars,  wreathed  with 
flowers,  festoons,  and  garlands." 

It  was  on  this  occasion  that  a  speaker  in  the  water- 
man's barge  thus  addressed  the  King : — "  God  blesse  thee, 
King  Charles,  and  thy  good  woman  there;  and  blest 
creature  she  is,  I  warrant  thee,  and  a  true.  Go  thy  ways 
for  a  wag  !  thou  hast  had  a  merry  time  on't  in  the  West ; 
I  need  say  no  more  I  But  do'st  hear  me  ?  Don't  take  it 
in  dudgeon  that  I  am  so  familiar  with  thee  ;  thou  may'st 
take  it  rather  kindly,  for  I  am  not  alwayes  in  this  good 
humour ;  though  I  thee  thee,  and  thou  thee,  I  am  no 
Quaker,  take  notice  of  that.'^ 

Pepys  says  that  on  this  occasion  there  were  at  least 
1,000  barges  and  boats — "  we  could  see  no  water  for  them, 
nor  discern  the  King  nor  Queen." 

A  water-pageant  was  always  a  part  of  the  Show  on  Lord 
Mayor's  Day  ;  the  civic  ruler  going  to  Westminster  in  his 
gorgeously-gilded  barge,  with  much  pomp  and  circum- 
stance, and  speeches  for  the  occasion  being  duly  prepared 


22 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


by  tlie  civic  poets-laureate,  wHo,  in  tlie  Tudor  reigns,  were 
men  of  literary  mark,  such  as  Webster,  Dekker,  Peele, 
and  Munday.  During  the  Civil  War,  and  under  tbe  Pro- 
tectorate, these  pageants  seem  to  have  been  omitted,*^ 
though  some  attempt  at  their  revival  was  made  by  the 
Mayor,  Sir  John  Dethick,  in  1655,  and  by  Sir  Richard 
Chiverton  in  1657.  At  the  Restoration  they  resumed  all 
their  ancient  brilliancy.  The  designer  of  the  Show  in 
1660,  and  in  many  succeeding  years,  was  John  Tatham  ; 
then  came  Thomas  Jordan.  The  last  was  Elkanah 
Settle,  who  invented  the  yearly  shows  until  1708,  and 
annually  published  descriptions  of  them.  So  says  Pope : — 

"  'Twas  on  the  day  wben  Thorold,  rich  and  grave, 
Like  Cimon,  triamph'd  both  on  land  and  wave  : 
Pomps  without  guilt,  of  bloodless  swords  and  wans, 
Glad  chains,  warm  furs,  broad  banners,  and  broad  fans. 
Now  night  descending,  the  proud  scene  was  o'er, 
That  lived  in  Settle's  numbers  one  day  more." 

The  Mayoral  banquet  was  frequently  attended  by 
Charles  II.  When  he  was  entertained  by  Sir  Robert 
Clayton,  a  "prodigious  rich  scrivener/' the  wines  were 
80  strong  and  so  plentiful  that  both  host  and  royal  guest 
grew  exceedingly  merry,  and  the  Mayor,  on  Charles's 
rising  to  depart,  hiccuped  a  request  that  he  would  sit  down 
and  "  take  t'other  bottle ."  To  this  ''  the  Merry  Monarch  " 
good-humouredly  assented,  humming  the  words  of  the  old 
song  — 

**  The  man  that  is  drunk  is  as  great  as  a  king !  " 

"Sept.  16th,  1668.— There  died  of  the  Plague  in  London 
this  week,  1,100;  and,  in  the  week  following,  above 
2,000. 


55 


♦Evelyn,  on  29th  October,  1661,  writes:  "I  saw  the  Lord  Mayor  pass 
in  hia  water  trimnph  to  Westminster,  being  the  first  solemnity  of  this  natmre 
after  twenty  years." 


OR,    ENGLAND   UNDER   CHARLES   II. 


23 


**  Auo-.  8th. — Died  this  week  in  London  4,000.'' 
"Aug.  13th. — There  perished  this  week  5,000." 
"  Sept.  7th. — Came  home,  there  perishing  near  10,000 
poor  creatures  weekly  ;  however,  I  went  all  along  the  city 
and  suburbs  from  Kent  Street  to  St.  James's,  a  dismal 
passage,  and  dangerous  to  see  so  many  coffins  exposed  in 
the  streets,  now  thin  of  peoj)le ;  the  shops  shut  up,  and  all 
in  mournful  silence,  not  knowing  whose  turn  might  be 
next," 

"Oct.  11th. — To  London,  and  went  through  the  whole 
city,  having  occasion  to  alight  out  of  the  coach  in  several 
places  about  business  of  money,  when  I  was  environed  with 
multitudes  of  poor  pestiferous  creatures  begging  alms; 
the  shops  universally  shut  up,  a  dreadful  prospect." 

Of  this  dreadful  visitation,  the  Great  Plague  of 
London,  the  first  official  notice  seems  to  have  been  an 
Order  in  Council,  dated  April  26th,  1665,  announcing 
that  it  had  broken  out  in  the  parish  of  St.  Giles's-in-the- 
Fields,  and  directing  certain  measures  to  be  taken  for 
arresting  its  progress.  These,  however,  proved  ineffectual, 
and  the  pestilence  rapidly  swept  over  the  whole  of  the 
metropolis,  making  its  way  into  the  city  proper  towards 
the  end  of  June.  People  then  began  to  hurry  into  the 
country  while  there  was  yet  time  to  escape ;  for,  as  soon 
as  the  infection  became  general,  a  strict  cordon  was 
drawn  round  the  plague-stricken  capital,  to  prevent  the 
disease  from  being  carried  into  the  provinces.  In  July  the 
King  fled  with  his  Court,  and  took  refuge  in  Salisbury, 
leaving  London  in  charge  of  Monk,  Duke  of  Albemarle. 
A  deep  sense  of  despair  seems  to  have  settled  down 
upon  the  inhabitants,  whose  gloom  was  deepened  by  the 
restrictions  enforced  upon  neighbourly  relations,  and  even 


24 


THE  MERET  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


25 


liJil 


upon  the  intercourse  of  families.  A  red  cross  was 
branded  on  the  door  of  every  house  where  the  fatal 
disease  showed  itself,  and  thenceforward  that  house  was 
cut  off,  as  it  were,  from  the  outer  world.  At  night  the 
carts  rattled  through  the  silent  streets  to  collect  the  bodies 
of  the  dead  and  convey  them  to  the  pits,  into  which  they 
were  huddled  without  the  sacred  offices  of  the  Church. 
Trade  and  commerce  almost  entirely  ceased  their  action, 
and  the  horror  of  the  situation  was  increased  by  a  grow- 
ing scarcity  of  provisions.  The  selfishness  latent  in  human 
nature  displayed  itself  with  ghastly  ostentation  ;  the  sick 
were  left  to  suffer  unattended ;  a  suspected  house  was 
shunned  even  by  the  ministers  of  religion.  "  London," 
says  Defoe,  "  might  well  be  said  to  be  all  in  tears ;  the 
mourners  did  not  go  about  the  streets,  indeed,  for  nobody 
put  on  black,  or  made  a  formal  dress  of  mourning  for 
their  nearest  friends;  but  the  voice  of  mourning  was 
truly  heard  in  the  streets ;  the  shrieks  of  women  and 
children  at  the  windows  and  doors  of  their  houses,  where 
their  nearest  relatives  were  perhaps  dying,  or  just  dead, 
were  so  frequent  to  be  heard,  as  we  passed  the  streets, 
that  it  was  enough  to  pierce  the  stoutest  heart  in  the 
world  to  hear  them.  Tears  and  lamentations  were  seen 
in  almost  every  house,  especially  in  the  first  part  of  the 
visitation,  for  towards  the  latter  end  men's  hearts  were 
hardened,  and  death  was  so  always  before  their  eyes,  that 
they  did  not  so  much  concern  themselves  for  the  loss  of 
their  friends,  expecting  that  themselves  should  be  sum- 
moned the  next  hour." 

The  Eev.  Thomas  Vincent,  one  of  the  Nonconforming 
clergy,  who  bravely  remained  in  the  infected  city,  thus 
describes   the   condition  of   affairs  in  August : — "  Now 


people  fall  as  thick,"  he  says,  ''  as  the  leaves  in  autumn 
when  they  are  shaken  by  a  mighty  wind.  Now  there  is  a 
dismal  solitude  in  London  streets ;  every  day  looks  with 
the  face  of  a  Sabbath  day,  observed  with  a  greater 
solemnity  than  it  used  to  be  in  the  city.  Now  shops 
are  shut  in,  people  rare  and  very  few  that  walk  about, 
insomuch  that  the  grass  begins  to  spring  up  in  some 
places,  and  a  deep  silence  in  every  place,  especially 
within  the  walls.  No  prancing  horses,  no  rattling 
coaches,  no  calling  in  customers  nor  offering  wares,  no 
London  cries  sounding  in  the  ears.  If  any  voice  be  heard, 
it  is  the  groans  of  dying  persons  breathing  forth  their 
last,  and  the  funeral  knells  of  them  that  are  ready  to  be 
carried  to  their  graves.  Now  shutting  up  of  visited 
houses  (there  being  so  many)  is  at  an  end,  and  most  of 
the  well  are  mingled  among  the  sick,  which  otherwise 
would  have  got  no  help.  Now,  in  some  places,  where  the 
people  did  generally  stay,  not  one  house  in  a  hundred  but 
what  is  affected,  and  in  many  houses  half  the  family  is 
swept  away ;  in  some,  from  the  eldest  to  the  youngest :  few 
escape  but  with  the  death  of  one  or  two.  Never  did  so 
many  husbands  and  wives  die  together;  never  did  so 
many  parents  carry  their  children  with  them  to  the 
grave,  and  go  together  into  the  same  house  under 
earth  who  had  lived  together  in  the  same  house  upon  it. 
Now  the  nights  are  too  short  to  bury  the  dead :  the  whole 
day,  though  at  so  great  a  length,  is  hardly  sufficient  to 
light  the  dead  that  fall  thereon  into  their  graves." 

London  was  virtually  put  into  perpetual  quarantine  by 
the  alarmed  country  people,  who,  at  a  distance  of  even 
forty  and  fifty  miles  from  tlie  capital,  were  afraid  to  pur- 
chase anything  that  came  from  its  marts,  or  to  allow  any 


26 


THE    MEREY   MONARCH  ; 


f 


of  its  inhabitants  to  enter  their  houses.    And,  in  the  citj 
itself,  transactions  were  necessarily  conducted  with  the 
utmost  precaution :— "  When   anyone  bought  a  joint  of 
meat  in  the  market,  they  would  not  take  it  out  of  the 
butcher's  hand,  but  took  it  off  the  hooks  themselves.     On 
the  other  hand,  the  butcher  would  not  touch  the  money, 
but  have  it  x)ut  into  a  pot  full  of  vinegar,  which  he  kept 
for  that  purpose.     The  buyer  carried  always  small  money, 
to  make  up  any  odd  sum,  that  they  might  take  no  change. 
They  carried   bottles   for   scents   and  perfumes  in  their 
hands,  and  all  the  means  tliat  could  be  used  were  em- 
ployed ;  but  then  the  poor  could  not  do  even  these  things, 
and  they  went  on  at  all  hazards."    The  grotesque  mingled 
with  the  terrible,  as  it  always  does,  and  quacks  found 
ready  customers  for  the  "  only  true  plague-water  "  and 
the  "  infalUble  preventive  pills."     It  is  sad  to  relate  that 
the  national  clergy  at  this  great  crisis  shrank  timorously 
from  their  duty.     "  Most  of  the  conformable  ministers 
fled,"  says  Baxter,  "  leaving  their  flocks  in  the  hour  of 
most  urgent  need ;"  it  was  only  the  nonconforming  clergy 
who  remained  at  the  post  of  danger,  which  was  also  the 
post  of  honour ;  who  went,  though  prohibited  by  a  harsh 
and  unjust  law,  into  the  forsaken  pulpits,  preached  to  the 
poor  people  before  they  died,  visited  the  sick,  and  relieved 
the  distressed.     The  fashionable  physicians  exhibited  the 
same  ignoble  regard  for  their  own  safety.    It  would  seem 
that  the  courage  and  manliness  of  the  higher  classes  had 
deteriorated  under  the  evil  influence  of  a  dissolute  and 
luxurious  Court. 

There  are  some  touches  in  Pepys  which  bring  out  most 
vividly  the  dark  and  unwholesome  aspects  of  this  terrible 
visitation.      On  the  3rd  August  he  went  on  a  visit  to  Dept- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


27 


ford,  and  met  Lord  Crewe  returning  to  the  town.  The 
journey  was  shortened  by  Mr.  Man's  narrative  of  a  maid- 
servant of  a  Mr .  John  Wright,  living  thereabout,  who,  h  aving 
fallen  sick  of  the  plague,  was  removed  to  an  out-house,  and 
put  in  charge  of  a  nurse,  but  during  the  latter's  absence  got 
out  at  the  window  and  ran  away.  "  The  nurse  coming  and 
knocking,  and,  having  no  answer,  believed  she  was  dead, 
and  went  and  told  Mr.  Wright  so ;  who  and  his  lady  were 
in  a  great  strait  what  to  do  to  get  her  buried.  At  last, 
resolved  to  go  to  Burntwood  [Brentwood]  hard  by,  being 
in  the  parish,  and  there  get  people  to  do  it.  But  they 
would  not :  so  he  went  home  full  of  trouble,  and  in  the 
way  met  the  wench  walking  over  the  common,  which 
frighted  him  worse  than  before  ;  and  was  forced  to  send 
people  to  take  her,  which  he  did  ;  and  they  got  one  of  the 
pest-coaches,  and  put  her  into  it,  to  carry  her  to  a  pest- 
house.  And,  passing,  in  a  narrow  lane,  Sir  Anthony 
Browne,  with  his  brother  and  some  friends  in  the  coach, 
met  this  coach  with  the  curtains  drawn  close.  The 
brother,  being  a  young  man,  and  believing  there  might 
be  some  lady  in  it  that  would  not  be  seen,  and  the  way 
being  narrow,  he  thrust  his  head  out  of  his  own  into  her 
coach,  and  to  look,  and  there  saw  somebody  looking  very 
ill,  and  in  a  silk  dress,  and  struck  mightily." 

Can  one  conceive  of  anything  ghastlier  ? 

On  one  August  evening  he  goes  from  Brentford  to  Queen- 
hive  [Queenhithe]  :  "  I  could  not  get  my  watennan  to  go 
elsewhere,"  he  writes,  ''  for  fear  of  the  plague.  Thence 
with  a  lanthorn,  in  great  fear  of  meeting  of  dead  corpses, 
carrying  to  be  buried ;  but,  blessed  be  God  !  met  none,  but 
did  see  now  and  then  a  link,  w  hich  is  the  mark  of  them,, 
at  a  distance." 


^ 


28 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


29 


l|l 


On  another  occasion  lie  walks  to  Greenwicli :  "  In  my 
way  seeing  a  coffin  with  a  dead  body  therein,  dead  of  the 
plague,  lying  in  an  open  close  belonging  to  Coome  Farm, 
which  was  carried  out  last  night,  and  the  parish  have  not 
appointed  any  body  to  bury  it ;  but  only  set  a  watch  there 
all  day  and  night,  that  nobody  should  go  thither  or  come 
thence :  this  disease  making  us  more  hard  to  one  another  than 
we  are  to  dogs,^' 

On  the  30th  of  August  he  writes  :  "  Lord  !  how  every 
body's  looks  and  discourse  in  the  street  is  of  death,  and 
nothing  else ;  and  few  people  going  up  and  down,  that 
the  town  is  like  a  place  distressed  and  forsaken"  And 
on  the  31st :  "  In  the  City  died  this  week  7,496,  and  of 
them  6,102  of  the  Plague.  But  it  is  found  that  the  true 
number  of  the  dead  this  week  is  near  10,000 ;  partly  from 
the  poor  that  cannot  be  taken  notice  of  through  the 
greatness  of  the  number,  and  partly  from  tbe  Quakers 
and  others  that  will  not  have  any  bell  ring  for  them." 

Early  in  September  the  still  and  lonely  streets  assumed 
another  aspect.  In  the  middle  of  each  a  large  bonfire 
was  kindled,  and  kept  alight  night  and  day,  for  the  puri- 
fication  of  the  air.  Every  six  bouses  on  each  side  of  the 
way  were  assessed  towards  the  expense  of  maintaining  it. 
A  heavy  rain  extinguished  them;  but  as  the  colder 
weather  approached  the  disease  began  to  diminish  in 
intensity,  and  as  the  weekly  death-total  lowered,  the 
people  recovered  their  confidence.  A  few  shops  were 
opened.  Fugitives  returned.  Intercourse  with  the  outer 
world  was  gradually  renewed.  The  King  and  Court, 
who  had  done  notbing  to  reassure  the  inhabitants,  or  re- 
lieve their  anxieties,  made  their  appearance.  In  the  first 
week  of  March  the  deaths  by  tbe  plague  had  decreased  to 


42.  By  the  end  of  April  it  was  almost  extinct,  after 
having  carried  off  upwards  of  a  hundred  thousand  victims; 
and  Londoners  were  free  to  turn  their  thoughts  to  the  war 
with  Holland,  and  the  severe  naval  disasters,  into  which 
an  arbitrary  and  incompetent  Government  had  hurried  the 

country. 

A  three  days'  sea-fight,  in  which  Monk,  at  the  head  of 
an  inferior  force,  had  bravely  but  unsuccessfully  withstood 
the  Dutch  under  De  Euyter,  ended  in  the  loss  of  several 
English  war-sbips,  and  the  retreat  of  the  rest  to  Dover. 
On  the  15th  of  June  Mr.  Evelyn  went  to  Sheerness  : 
"  There  I  beheld  the  sad  spectacle — more  than  half  that 
gallant  bulwark  of  the  kingdom  miserably  shattered; 
hardly  a  vessel  entire,  but  appearing  so  many  wrecks  and 
hulls,  so  cruelly  had  the  Dutch  mangled  us."  The  "  sad 
siffht "  drew  from  Mm  a  confession  that  "  none  knew  for 
what  reason  we  first  engaged  in  this  ungrateful  war." 

While  the  kingdom  was  thus  convulsed  by  the  combined 
shocks  of  war  and  pestilence,  another  affliction  befell  it : 
the  destruction  by  fire  of  a  great  portion  of  its  capital. 
We  turn  to  the  Diary  of  Mr.  Evelyn,  and  under  the  date 
of  "  Sunday,  September  the  2nd,"  we  read : — 

''  This  fatal  night,  about  ten,  begun  that  deplorable  fire 
near  Fish  Street,  in  London." 

On  that  same  night,  or  rather,  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  Mr.  Pepys  was  standing  in  his  night-gown  at 
his  bedroom  window  in  Seething  Lane,  and  from  the  glare 
and  glow  of  the  western  sky,  judging  the  fire  was  some 
distance  off,  grew  sufficiently  relieved  to  go  to  bed  again, 
and  to  sleep.  It  had  broken  ont  in  the  house  of  a  baker 
named  Farryan,  at  Pudding  Lane,  near  the  Tower,  and 
impelled  by  a  strong  east  wind,  swept  over  the  city  for 


30 


THE  MERRT  MONARCH } 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


31 


tliree  nigMs  and  days,  until  it  terminated  at  Pje  Corner, 

in  Gilt  spur  Street. 

«  September  3rd.— The  fire  continuing,  after  dinner  I 
took  coach  with  my  wife  and  son,  and  went  to  the  Bankside 
in  Southwark,  where  we  beheld  that  dismal  spectacle,  the 
whole  city  in  dreadful  flames  near  the  water  side  ;  all  the 
houses  from  the  Bridge,  all  Thames  Street,  and  upwards 
towards  Cheapside,  down  to  the  Three  Cranes,  were  now 

consumed. 

"  The  fire  having  continued  all  this  night  (if  I  may  call 
that  night  which  was  as  light  as  day  for  ten  miles  round 
about,  after  a  dreadful  manner)  when  co-inspiring  with  a 
fierce  eastern  wind  in  a  very  dry  season,  I  went  on  foot 
to  the  same  place,  and  saw  the  whole  south  part  of  the 
city  burning  from  Cheapside  to  the  Thames,  and  all  along 
Cornhill  (for  it  kindled  back  against  the  wind  as  well  as 
forward).    Tower    Street,    Fenchurch    Street,    Gracious 
Street,  and  so  along  to  Baynard's  Castle,  and  was  now 
taking  hold  of  St.  Paul's  Church,  to  which  the  scaffolds 
contributed    exceedingly.       The     conflagration    was    so 
universal,  and  the  people  so  astonished,  that  from  the 
beo-innino-,  I  Ltiow  not  by  what  despondency  or  fate,  they 
hardly  stirred  to  quench  it,  so  that  there  was  nothing 
heard  or  seen  but  crying  out  and  lamentation,  running 
about  like  distracted  creatures,  without  at  all  attempting 
to  save  even   their  goods,  such  a  strange  consternation 
there  was  upon  them,  so  as  it  burned  both  in  breadth  and 
leno-th,  the  Churches,  Pubhc  Halls,  Exchange,  Hospitals, 
Monuments,  and  ornaments,  leaping  after  a  prodigious 
manner  from  house  to  house  and  street  to  street,  at  great 
distances  one  from  the  other ;  for  the  heat,  with  a  long 
set  of  fair  and  warm  weather,  had  even  ignited  the  air. 


and  prepared  the  materials  to  receive  the  fire,  which 
devoured  after  an  incredible  manner,  houses,  furniture, 
and  everything.  Here  we  saw  the  Thames  covered  with 
goods  floating,  all  the  barges  and  boats  laden  with  what 
some  had  time  and  courage  to  save,  as,  on  the  other,  the 
carts,  &c.,  carrying  out  to  the  fields,  which  for  many  miles 
were  strewed  with  movables  of  all  sorts,  and  tents 
erecting  to  shelter  both  people  and  what  goods  they  could 
get  away.  Oh,  the  miserable  and  calamitous  spectacle ! 
such  as  haply  the  world  had  not  seen  the  like  since  the 
foundation  of  it,  nor  to  be  outdone  till  the  universal  con- 
flagration. All  the  sky  was  of  a  fiery  aspect,  like  the  top 
of  a  burning  oven,  the  light  seen  above  forty  miles  round 
about  for  many  nights.  God  grant  my  eyes  may  never 
behold  the  like,  nor  seeing  above  10,000  houses  all  in  one 
flame ;  the  noise  and  cracking  and  thunder  of  the  im- 
petuous flames,  the  shrieking  of  women  and  children^  the 
hurry  of  people,  the  fall  of  towers,  houses,  and  churches, 
was  like  an  hideous  storm,  and  the  air  all  about  so  hot 
and  inflamed  that  at  last  one  was  not  able  to  approach  it, 
so  that  they  were  forced  to  stand  still  and  let  the  flames 
burn  on,  which  they  did  for  near  two  miles  in  length  and 
one  in  breadth.  The  clouds  of  smoke  were  dismal,  and 
reached  upon  computation  near  fifty  miles  in  length. 
Thus  I  left  it  this  afternoon  burning,  a  resemblance  of 
Sodom,  of  the  last  day.  London  was,  but  is  no  more  !  " 
Let  us  turn  for  a  moment  to  Mr.  Pepys.  Taking  a  boat 
at  the  Tower  Stairs,  he  proceeded  slowly  up  the  river, 
which  was  red  with  the  flames  of  the  burning  houses  at 
the  water-side.  Distracted  people  were  hurrying  to  get 
their  little  property  on  board  the  lighters  ;  no  effort  was 
anywhere  being  made,  and  probably  none  would  then  have 


O-d 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


33 


I 


been  successful,  to  check  the  progress  of  the  conflagra- 
tion.    Pepys   arrived   at  Whitehall,   and  told  his  story 
to  the  King,  begging  him,  as  the  only  possible  mode  of 
stopping  the  fire,  to  order  houses  to  be  pulled  down.    The 
King  sent  him  to  the  Lord  Mayor  with  the  necessary  in- 
structions. In  Cannon  Street  he  encountered  the  dazed  and 
terrified  magistrate,  who  exclaimed  :  «  Lord  !  what  can  I 
do?    I  am  spent.     People  will  not   obey  me."    He  had 
been  pulling  down  houses,  had  been  up  all   night,  and 
weary  and  distraught,  must  go  home  and  refresh  himself- 
Later  in  the  day,  Pepys  embarked  at  Paul's  wharf  on 
another  tour  of  inspection.     He  fell  in  with  the  Koyal 
barge,  carrying  the  King  and  the  Duke  of  York,  who 
ordered  the  immediate  demolition  of  a  number  of  houses ; 
but  the  fire  swept  on  with  such  rapidity  that  little  could 
be  done.     The  river  (says  Pepys)    was  full  of  lighters  and 
boats  taking  in  goods,  while  "  good  goods  "  were  floating 
about  in  the  water  ;  and  he  noted-a  proof  of  the  old 
English  love  of  music^that  hardly  one  lighter  or  boat  in 
thrle  that  had  the  goods  of  a  house  in,  but  had  also  a 
pair  of  virginals.   It  was  a  warm,  fine  evening,  and  Pepys 
remained   on   the    river    until  late,    though    showers   of 
sparks  fell  about  him  like  a  rain  of  fire.    The  flakes  would 
leap  up  from   a  burning  house,  and  then  descend  npon 
another  many  yards  distant,  and  set  that  a-burning.     As 
in   many  streets  the  buildings  were  all  of  timber,  with 
thatched  roofs,  while  the  Thames  Street  warehouses  were 
stored  with  oil  and  brandy,  and  pitch  and  tar,  we  need  not 
wonder  at  the  swift,  resistless  advance  of  the  destroyer. 
As  night  came  on,  Pepys  landed  at  the  little  ale-house  on 
the  Bankside,  where  he  stayed  and  saw  the  fire  grow  "  in 
corners  and  upon   steeples,   and  between  churches  and 


houses,  as  far  as  we  could  see  up  the  hill  of  the  city,  in 
a  most  horrid,  malicious,  bloody  flame,  not  like  the  fire- 
flame  of  an  ordinary  fire." 

On  Tuesday,  September  4th,  the  whole  south  part  of 
the  city,  as  far  as  Ludgate  Hill,  was  burning,  and  the  fire 
began  to  take  hold  of  the  great  Cathedral  of  St.  PauPs, 
which  was  surrounded  by  scaffolding  for  its  repair.  "  The 
stones  of  Paul's  flew  like  grenades,  the  melting  lead 
running  down  the  streets  in  a  stream,  and  the  very  pave- 
ments glowing  with  fiery  redness,  so  as  no  horse,  nor  man, 
was  able  to  tread  on  them,  and  the  demolition  had  stopped 
all  the  passages,  so  that  no  help  could  be  applied;  the 
eastern  wind  still  more  impetuously  driving  the  flames 
forward."  On  this  day  the  houses  near  the  Tower  were 
blown  up,  and  the  same  judicious  expedient  was  adopted 
in  other  places. 

On  the  5th  the  fire  moved  towards  Whitehall,  throwing 
the  Court  into  a  state  of  great  excitement.  It  is  only 
fair  to  say  that  Charles  and  the  Duke  of  York  on  this 
occasion  set  an  admirable  example,  and  particular  streets 
were  now  given  in  charge  to  gentlemen  of  the  Court,  who 
directed  the  means  of  extinguishing  the  flames.  The 
people  took  heart,  and  vigorously  carried  out  the  orders 
given  to  them.  The  civic  authorities  no  longer  ignored 
the  advice  which  some  seamen  had  proffered  at  the  outset, 
that  the  houses  should  be  blown  up  before  the  flames 
reached  them.  "  It  now  pleased  God,"  says  Evelyn,  ''  by 
abating  the  wind,  and  by  the  industry  of  the  peo]3le,  in- 
fusing a  new  spirit  into  them,  that  the  fury  of  it  begun 
sensibly  to  abate  about  noon,  so  as  it  came  no  further 
than  the  Temple  westward,  nor  than  the  entrance  of 
Smithfield  north ;  but  continued  all  this  day  and  night  so 

VOL.   I.  D 


34 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


35 


"' 


impetuous  towards  Cripplegate  and  the  Tower,  as  made 
us  all  despair :  it  also  broke  out  again  in  the  Temple,  but 
the  courage  of  the  multitude  persisting,  and  many  houses 
being  blown  up,  such  gaps  and  desolations  were  soon 
made,  as  with  the  former  three  days'  consumption,  the 
back  fire  did  not  so  vehemently  rage  upon  the  rest  as 
previously.  There  was  yet  no  standing  near  the  burning 
and  glaring  ruins  by  near  a  furlong's  space. 

"The  poor  inhabitants  were  dispersed  about  St. 
George's  Fields,  and  Moorfields  as  far  as  Highgate, 
and  several  miles  in  circle,  some  under  tents,  some  under 
miserable  huts  and  hovels,  many  without  a  rag  or  any 
necessary  utensils,  bed  or  board,  who,  from  delicateness, 
riches,  and  easy  accommodations  in  stately  and  well- 
furnished  houses,  were  now  reduced  to  extremesfc  misery 

and  poverty. 

"  In  this  calamitous  condition  I  returned  with  a  sad 
heart  to  my  house,  blessing  and  adoring  the  mercy  of  God 
to  me  and  mine,  who  in  the  midst  of  all  this  ruin  was  like 
Lot,  in  my  little  Zoar,  safe  and  sound." 

On  the  6th  Mr.  Pepys  was  up  about  five  o'clock,  and 
went  with  his  men  to  Bishopsgate,  which  had  hitherto 
escaped,  but  where  now  the  fire  had  broken  out.  This 
gave  great  grounds  to  people,  and  to  me  too,  says  Pepys, 
to  think  there  is  some  kind  of  plot  at  work;  but  he  went 
with  the  men,  and  did  put  it  out  in  a  little  time,  so  that 
that  was  well  again.  ''  It  was  pretty  to  see  how  hard  the 
women  did  work  in  the  cannells,  sweeping  of  water  ;  but 
then  they  would  scold  for  drink  and  be  as  drunk  as  devils. 
I  saw  good  butts  of  sugar  broke  open  in  the  street,  and 
people  give  and  take  handfuls  out  and  put  into  beer  and 
drink  it.   And  now  all  being  pretty  well,  I  took  boat,  and 


over  to  Southwark,  and  took  boat  on  the  other  side  of  the 
bridge,  and  so  to  Westminster,  thinking  to  shift  myself, 
being  all  in  dirt  from  top  to  bottom,  but  could  not  there 
find  any  place  to  buy  a  shirt  or  a  pair  of  gloves,  West- 
minster Hall  being  full  of  people's  goods,  those  in  West- 
minster having  removed  all  their  goods,  and  the  Ex- 
chequer money  put  into  vessels  to  carry  to  Nonsuch,  but 
to  the  Swan,  and  there  was  trimmed,  and  then  to  White 
Hall,  but  saw  nobody,  and  so  home.  A  sad  sight  to  see 
how  the  river  looks  :  no  houses  nor  church  near  it,  to  the 
Temple,  where  it  [the  fire]  stopped." 

To  relieve  the  wants  of  the  poor  and  houseless  liberal 
contributions  were  made  by  the  King,  the  nobility,  and  the 
clergy.  Collections  were  made  in  those  parts  of  the  city 
which  had  not  suffered  by  the  visitation,  and  alms  distri- 
buted daily  to  the  needy.  At  one  time  peril  of  famine 
seemed  imminent,  but  the  King  issued  proclamations 
calling  upon  the  country  people  to  bring  in  supplies  of 
provisions,  and  facilities  were  offered  to  the  people  to 
leave  the  ruins  by  a  royal  decree  that  they  should  be  at 
Hberty  to  pursue  their  occupations  in  all  towns  and  cities, 
a  guarantee  being  given  that  such  reception  should  entail 
no  material  burthen  upon  parishes.  Truly  it  can  have  been 
no  hardship  to  quit  a  scene  so  desolate  and  dreary !  Few 
of  us  but  know  the  bleak  and  cheerless  aspect  of  the  ruin 
caused  by  fire :  the  blackened,  shattered  walls,  the  con- 
fused mass  of  wreckage  and  dilapidation,  the  silence  and 
confusion  where  but  a  few  hours  before  all  was  order,  and 
life,  and  comfort.  Think  of  this  miserable  picture  when 
extended  over  so  wide  an  area  as  was  covered  by  the  Great 
Fire !  think  of  the  misery  and  gloom  represented  by  the 
destruction  of  nine  and  eighty  churches,  thirteen  thousand 


36 


THE   MERET   MONARCH; 


two  hundred  dwelling-liouses,  a  vast  number  of  statelj 
public  buildings,  hospitals,  schools,  and  libraries  !  The 
total  amount  of  the  loss  in  money  has  been  estimated  at 

£7,335,000.* 

Speaking  of  this  historic  event,  Eichard  Baxter  says  :— 
« It  was  a  sight  that  might  have  given  any  man  a  lively 
sense   of  the  vanity   of  this   world,   and  all  the  wealth 
and   glory  of  it,  and  of  the  future   conflagration  of  all 
the  world.     To  see  the  flames  mount  up  towards  heaven, 
and  proceed  so  furiously  without  restraint :    To  see  the 
streets  filled  with    people  astonished,  that  had    scarce 
sense  left  them  to  lament  their  own  calamity :     To   see 
the  fields  filled  with  heaps  of  goods ;   and  sumptuous 
buildings,   ruinous   rooms,  costly   furniture,  and    house- 
hold stuff,   yea,    warehouses   and    furnished  shops   and 
Hbraries,  all  on  a  flame,   and  none  durst   come  near  to 
receive   anything:     To   see    the  King    and  nobles   ride 
about  the  streets,  beholding   all  these  desolations,   and 
none  could  afford  the  least  relief:     To  see  the  air,  as  far 
as  could  be  beheld,  so  filled  with  the  smoke,  that  the  sun 
shone  through  it  with  a  colour  like  blood ;    yea,   even 
when  it  was  setting  in  the  west,  it  so  appeared  to  them 
that  dwelt  on  the  west  side  of  the  city.  But  the  dolefullest 
sio-ht  of  all  was  afterwards,  to  see  what  a  ruinous,  con- 
fused place  the  city  was,  by  chimnies  and  steeples  only 
standing  in  the  midst  of  cellars  and  heaps  of  rubbish ;  so 
that  it  was  hard  to  know  where  the  streets  had  been,  and 
dangerous,  of  a  long  time,  to    pass  through  the  ruins,, 
because  of  vaults  and  fire  in  them.     No  man  that  seeth 
not  such  a  thing  can  have  a  right  apprehension  of  the 

*  Happilv,  only  eight  lives  were  lost ;  and  by  sweeping  away  the  reeking, 
squalid  lan'es  and  alleys  of  the  East  End,  the  Great  Fire  may  possibly  have 
prevented  the  retnrn  of  the  Plague. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


37 


dreadfulness  of  it.'^  But  on  the  insolent  courtiers  who 
fluttered  round  the  King,  and  on  the  higher  classes 
generally,  no  such  impression  seems  to  have  been  pro- 
duced. "  None  of  the  nobility,"  says  Pepys,  "  came  out 
of  the  country  at  all  to  help  the  King,  or  comfort  him,  or 
prevent  commotions."  The  courtiers  said  that  the  rebel- 
lious city  being  ruined,  the  King  was  absolute,  and  indeed, 
had  never  been  truly  king  before.  One  profligate  young 
naval  commander  "  made  mighty  sport  of  it,"  and  rejoiced 
that  the  citizens'  wives  might  be  corrupted  at  a  reduced 

cost. 

In  his  ''Annus  Mirabilis "  Dryden  concludes  his  de- 
scription of  the  Fire  with  a  reference  to  the  popular 
superstition  which  associated  it  and  the  Plague  with  the 
appearance  of  two  comets : — 

"  The  utmost  malice  of  the  stars  is  past, 

And  two  dire  comets,  which  have  scourged  the  town, 
In  their  own  Plague  and  Fire  have  breathed  their  last, 
Or  dimly  in  their  sinking  sockets  frown." 

It  might  well  be  thought  that,  after  two  such  terrible 
visitations,  "  the  utmost  malice  of  the  stars  "  had,  indeed, 
been  exhausted  ;  but  England's  cup  of  bitterness  was  not 
yet  full.  She  had  drunk  deep  of  national  disaster ;  she 
had  yet  to  drink  of  national  disgrace.  The  Fire  and  the 
Pestilence  were  evils  for  which  her  people  were  hardly 
responsible ;  but  the  appearance  of  a  foreign  fleet  in  the 
Medway  was  directly  owing  to  their  own  weakness — to  the 
decay  of  the  old  patriotic  spirit.  The  England  of  Crom- 
well and  Blake  had  undergone  a  pitiful  change ;  the  heroic 
temper  of  her  sons  had  deteriorated  under  the  corrupting 
influence  of  a  venal  Government  and  profligate  Court. 

Writing  on  the  31st  of  December,  1666,  Pepys  says: 
"  Thus  ends  this  year  of  public  wonder  and  mischief  to 


lid 


38 


THE   MEREY  MONARCH  ; 


tMs  nation.  Public  matters  in  a  most  sad  condition  ; 
seamen  discouraged  for  want  of  pay,  and  are  become 
not  to  be  governed  :  nor,  as  matters  are  now,  can  any  fleet 
go  out  next  year.  ...  A  sad,  vicious,  negligent  Court,  and 
all  sober  men  thus  fearful  of  the  ruin  of  the  whole 
kingdom  this  next  year ;  from  which,  Good  Lord  deliver 
us.''  The  few  war-ships  in  commission  were  commanded 
by  gay  young  nobles,  wholly  ignorant  of  sea  affairs,  one 
of  whom  had  the  audacity  to  say  that  he  hoped  not  to  see 
"  a  tarpaulin  "—that  is,  a  seaman — in  command  of  a 
ship  for  a  twelvemonth ;  while  the  tarpaulins  themselves 
complained  sadly  that  "  the  true  English  valour  we  talk 
of  is  almost  spent  and  worn  out."  In  the  spring  of  1667 
it  was  well-known  that  Holland  was  making  strenuous 
preparations  to  uphold  and  confirm  her  claim  to  naval 
supremacy. 

"  Each  day  they  bring  the  tale,  and  that  too  true, 
How  strong  the  Dutch  their  equipage  renew." 

But  the  Government  made  no  effort  to  meet  the  coming 
danger.  The  House  of  Commons  had  voted  reluctant 
supplies,  conscious  that  they  would  never  be  applied  to 
the  objects  for  which  they  were  nominally  designed ;  and 
the  King's  treasurer  had  expended  them  on  the  King's 
mistresses  and  the  gilded  profligacy  of  the  Court.  The 
arsenals  and  dockyards  remained  unemployed.  '^Mean- 
time/' says  Marvell :— 

"  Meantime  through  all  the  yards  their  orders  run 
To  lay  the  ships  up,  cease  the  keels  begun. 
The  timber  rots,  the  useless  axe  doth  rust; 
Th*  unpractised  saw  is  bm-ied  in  its  dust ; 
The  busy  hammer  sleeps,  the  ropes  untwine. 
The  store  and  wages  all  are  mine  and  thine ; 
Along  the  masts  and  harbours  they  take  care 
That  money  lacks,  oui-  forts  be  in  repair." 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


39 


When  the  Dutch  fleet  of  seventy  ships,  under  the 
famous  Admiral  De  Ruyter,  appeared  off  the  Nore,  neither 
ships  nor  ports  were  manned,  and  not  a  shot  was  fired  to 
stay  their  progress  up  the  river.    The  authorities  in  Lon- 
don at  last  awoke  to  a  sense  of  their  dangerous  position ; 
and   Monk,  Duke   of  Abermarle  rushed   down—"  in  his 
shirt/'  says  Marvell— to  Gravesend,  "  with  a  great  many 
idle  lords  and  gentlemen."  He  collected  a  few  score  dock- 
yard  men ;  raised  a  couple  of  rude  and  feeble  batteries,  and 
sunk  seven  ships  in  the  Medway  to  obstruct  its  channel. 
The  Dutch  fleet,  continuing  to  advance,  reached  Sheerness 
on  the  11th  of  June.      "  The  alarm  was  so  great,"  writes 
Evelyn,  "  that  it  put  both  country  and  city  into  fear— a 
panic  and  consternation,  such  as  I  hope  I  shall  never  see 
more  ;  everybody  was  flying,  none  knew  why  or  whither." 
The  Dutch  fleet,  assisted  by  a  high  tide  and  a  strong  east 
wind,  entered  the  Medway,  broke  the  chains  and  booms, 
easily   silenced  the  batteries,  and  proceeded  to   attack 
Upnor  Castle.   This  fort,  however,  was  so  strongly  defended 
that  the  Dutch  made  little  impression  upon  it.    They  then 
directed  their  fire  against  the  men-of-war  which  lay  at 
anchor  in  the  river;  as  these  were  unprotected,  their  crews 
were    soon    overpowered.      Three    of  them    (the   Royal 
London,    the    Great   James,    and   the    Royal   OaJc)    were 
burned  to  the  water's  edge ;  and  one,  the  Royal  Charles, 
which  had  brought  the  King  to  England  in  16G0,  was 
carried  away  as  a  memorial  of  victory.     In   connection 
with    the  loss   of  the   Royal    Oak  occurred  an  incident 
which  is  the  only  bright  spot  in  this  dreary  record  of 
national  disgrace.      Captain   Douglas,    its    commander, 
had  made  the   stoutest   defence  within  his  means,  and 
done  his  best  to  keep   off  the  enemy.     But  the  Dutch 


.nil 


4^ 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


fire-ships  succeeded  in  setting  Ms  vessel  on  fire,  and  the 
flames  spread  with  a  rapidity  that  baffled  all  human  effort 
to   arrest  them.     The  crew  sprang  overboard  and  made 
for  the  shore.  The  officers,  as  they  left  the  blazing  wreck, 
entreated  the  brave   Douglas  to   follow  their  example. 
But,   like   the   Eoman   sentry   at   Pompeii,  the  heavens 
might  fall,  and  yet  he  would  not  desert  the  post  of  duty. 
"  Never  was  it  known,"  he  exclaimed,  "  that  a  Douglas 
quitted    his    post    without    orders !  ^'      Calm    and   reso- 
lute, he  remained  upon  the  burning  poop,  the  only  man 
who  in  that  day  of  shame  upheld  the  ancient  renown  of 
England. 

"  Down  on  the  deck  he  laid  himself  and  died, 
With  his  dear  sword  reposing  at  his  side  ; 
And  on  the  flaming  plank  he  rests  his  head, 
As  one  that  warmed  himself  and  went  to  bed. 
His  ship  burns  down,  and  with  his  relics  sinks. 
And  the  sad  stream  beneath  his  ashes  drinks. 
Fortnnate  boy !  if  either  pencil's  fame. 
Or  if  my  verse  can  propagate  thy  name, 
When  (Eta  and  Alcides  are  forgot. 
Our  English  youth  shall  sing  the  valiant  Scot." 

With  the  Royal  Charles  as  a  trophy,  the  Dutch 
quietly  sailed  back  to  the  Thames,  where  for  several 
weeks  they  maintained  a  real  blockade,  cutting  off  the 
Londoners  from  their  supplies  of  sea-borne  coal.  On  the 
24th  of  June  Evelyn  writes  :  ''  The  Dutch  fleet  still  con- 
tinuing to  stop  up  the  river  so  as  nothing  could  stir  or 
come  out,  I  was  before  the  Council,  and  commanded  by 
His  Majesty  to  go  with  some  others  and  search  about  the 
environs  of  the  city,  now  exceedingly  distressed  for  want 
of  fuel,  whether  there  could  be  any  peat  or  turf  fit  for 
use."  On  the  28th  the  Dutch  were  still  lying  triumphantly 
at  the  Nore :  "  a  dreadful  spectacle,"  says  Evelyn,  "  as 
ever  Englishmen  saw,  and  a  dishonour  never  to  be  wiped 


I 


OE,    ENGLAND   TTNDEE  CHAELES   II. 


41 


i 


M 


off."  *    Such  a  spectacle,  happily,  we  have  never  since 
seen ;  such  dishonour  never  since  incurred. 

We  have  thus,  with  the  help  of  Evelyn's  Diary,  glanced 
at  the  three  great  events  which  distinguished  the  years 
1666-1667.  Our  further  extracts  must  be  few  and  brief  : — 

"1667,  September  19th.~To  London,  with  Mr.  Henry 
Howard,  of  Norfolk,  of  whom  I  obtained  the  gift  of  his 
Arundelian  Marbles,  those  celebrated  and  famous  inscrip- 
tions, Greek  and  Latin,  gathered  with  so  much  cost  and 
industry  from  Greece,  by  his  illustrious  grandfather,  the 
magnificent  Earl  of  Arundel,t  my  noble  friend,  whilst  he 
lived.  When  I  saw  those  precious  monuments  universally 
neglected,  and  scattered  up  and  down  about  the  garden  and 
other  parts  of  Arundel  House,  and  how  exceedingly  the 
corrosive  air  of  London  impaired  them,  I  procured  leive 
to  bestow  them  on  the  University  of  Oxford.  This  he  was 
pleased  to  grant  me,  and  now  gave  me  the  key  of  the 
gallery,  with  leave  to  mark  all  those  stones,  urns,  altars, 
&c.,  and  whatever  I  found  had  inscriptions  on  them,  that 
were  not  statues.  This  I  did,  and  getting  them  removed 
and  piled  together  with  those  which  were  incrusted  in  the 
garden  walls,  I  sent  immediately  letters  to  the  Yice- 
Chancellor  of  what  I  had  procured,  and  that  if  they 
esteemed  it  a  service  to  the  University  (of  which  I  had 
been  a  member),  they  should  take  order  for  their  trans- 
portation."! 

The  University  did  esteem  it  a  service,  and  rewarded 
Evelyn  with  a  public  vote  of  thanks. 

*  "  Everybody  now-a-days,"  says  Pepys,  "  reflect  upon  Oliver  and  com- 
mend him ;  what  brave  things  he  did,  and  made  all  the  neighbom:  princes 
fear  him.'' 

t  Thomas,  Earl  of  Arundel,  died  1592. 

t  The  statues  were  afterwards  (1725)  presented  to  the  University  by  tho 
Countess  of  Arundel. 


>i 


4a 


THE   MEEEY   MONAECH ; 


"  1670-1671,  January  lOth.— This  day  I  first  acquainted 
His  Majesty  with  that  incomparable  young  man  [Grin- 
ling]  Gibbons,  whom  I  had  lately  met  with  in  an  obscure 
place  by  mere  accident,  as  I  was  walking  near  a  poor, 
solitary,  thatched  house,  in  a  field  in  our  parish,  near 
Sayes  Court.  I  found  him  shut  in  ;  but  looking  in  at  the 
window,  I  perceived  him  carving  that  large  cartoon  or 
crucifix  of  Tintoretto,  a  copy  of  which  I  had  myself 
brought  from  Venice,  where  the  original  painting  remains. 
I  asked  if  I  might  enter ;  he  opened  the  door  civilly  to 
me,  and  I  saw  him  about  such  a  work  as  for  the  curiosity 
of  handling,  drawing,  and  studious  exactness  I  never  had 
before  seen  in  all  my  travels.  I  questioned  him  why 
he  worked  in  such  an  obscure  and  lonesome  place ;  he  told 
me  it  was  that  he  might  apply  himself  to  his  profession 
without  interruption,  and  wondered  not  a  little  how  I 
found  him  out.  I  asked  if  he  was  unwilling  to  be  made 
known  to  some  great  man,  for  that  I  believed  it  might 
turn  to  his  profit.  He  answered  he  was  yet  but  a  beginner, 
but  would  not  be  sorry  to  sell  off  that  piece.  On  demand- 
ing the  price,  he  said  £100.  In  good  earnest,  the  very 
frame  was  worth  the  money,  there  being  nothing  in 
Nature  so  tender  and  delicate  as  the  flowers  and  festoons 
about  it,  and  yet  the  work  was  very  strong.  In  the  piece 
was  more  than  one  hundred  figures  of  men,  &c.  I  found 
he  was  likewise  musical,  and  very  civil,  sober,  and  dis- 
creet in  his  discourses." 

This  rare  and  exquisite  genius,  Grinling  Gibbons, 
was  a  native  of  Eotterdam,  where  he  was  born  on 
the  4th  of  April,  1648.  He  came  to  London  in  1667, 
after  the  Great  Fire,  and  was  first  brought  into 
notice    by    Evelyn,  who,   as   we   have  seen,   introduced 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


43 


him  to  Charles  II.  Evelyn  calls  him  ^'without  contro- 
versy, the  greatest  master  both  for  invention  and  rare- 
ness of  work,  that  the  world  had  in  any  age ;  nor  doubt  I 
at  all,"  he  adds,  "  that  he  wiU  prove  as  great  a  master  in 
the  statuary  art.'^  He  executed  the  base  of  Charles  I.^s 
statue  at  Charing  Cross,  and  also  the  bronze  statue  of 
James  VI.  in  the  Privy  Garden,  Whitehall,  for  which,  it 
is  said,  he  received  £300.  Not  for  his  statuary,  however, 
but  for  his  carving  in  wood,  which  for  fidelity,  grace,  and 
delicacy  has  never  been  surpassed,  is  he  most  highly  es- 
teemed. His  industry  must  have  been  little  inferior  to 
his  ability — so  many  of  our  great  houses  and  churches 
contain  specimens  of  his  skill.  At  Petworth  is  a  very 
elaborate  series  of  carvings,  for  some  of  the  panels  of 
which  Turner,  two  centuries  later,  painted  landscapes. 
At  Fawley  Church,  Bucks,  is  a  finely-carved  pulpit,  which 
formerly  belonged  to  the  private  chapel  at  Canons,  the 
seat  of  Pope's  Duke  of  Chandos,  and  the  satirist's 
"Timon's  Villa. ^*  Some  beautiful  carvings  of  fruit, 
flowers,  and  dead  game,  are  extant  at  Cassiobury.  The 
carved  monument  to  Dorothv  Clarke,  in  Fulham  Church 
came  from  his  patient  chisel ;  and  the  Londoner  will  find 
much  of  his  best  wo  rk  at  Hampton  Court.  At  Cranbrook 
House,  Ilford,  and  at  Burleigh,  in  Northamptonshire, 
further  proofs  of  his  genius  may  be  obtained ;  and  at  Bush 
Hill  Park  (near  Winchmore  Hill)  is  preserved  his  famous 
"  large  carving  in  wood  of  St.  Stephen  Stoned."  Of  course 
his  art  is  illustrated  at  Windsor,  and  some  of  its  finest 
specimens  may  be  seen  in  the  State  Ante-Room.  The  tomb 
of  Viscount  Camden,  in  Exton  Church,  Rutlandshire,  con- 
tains both  statuary  and  ornament,  and  is  a  masterpiece 
of  faithful  execution. 


44 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


Gibbons  died  at  his  house  in  Bow  Street,  in  17—. 
Horace  Walpole  describes  him  as  "  an  original  genius,  a 
citizen  of  nature.  There  is  no  instance  before  him,"  he 
adds,  "  of  a  man  who  gave  to  wood  the  loose  and  airj  light- 
ness of  flowers,  and  chained  together  the  various  produc- 
tions of  the  elements  with  the  free  disorder  natural  to 
each  species.  ...  It  is  said  that  he  lived  in  Belle 
Sauvage  Court,  Ludgate  Hill,  and  was  employed  by 
Betterton  in  decorating  the  theatre  in  Dorset  Gardens. 
He  lived  afterwards  at  Deptford  with  a  musician,  where 
the  beneficent  and  curious  Mr.  Evelyn  found  and  patro- 
nized both.  This  gentleman,  Sir  Peter  Lely,  and  Baptiste 
May,  who  was  something  of  an  architect  himself,  recom- 
mended Gibbons  to  Charles  II.,  who  was  too  indolent  to 
search  for  genius,  and  too  indiscriminate  in  his  bounty  to 
confine  it  to  merit;  but  was  always  pleased  when  it  was 
brought  home  to  him.  He  gave  the  artist  a  place  in  the 
Board  of  Works,  and  employed  his  hand  on  ornaments  of 
most  taste  in  his  palaces,  particularly  at  Windsor." 

We  continue  our  quotations  from  Evelyn : — 

"  1 683,  December  6th. — The  Thames  frozen. 

"1683-4,  January  1st. — The  weather  continuing  intoler- 
ably severe,  streets  of  booths  were  set  up  on  the  Thames ; 
the  air  was  so  very  cold  and  thick,  as  of  many  years  there 
had  not  been  the  like. 

January  6th. — The  river  quite  frozen. 
January  9th. — I  went  across  the  Thames  on  the  ice, 
now  become  so  thick  as  to  bear  not  only  streets  of  booths, 
in  which  they  roasted  meat,  and  had  divers  shops  of  wares, 
quite  across  as  in  a  town,  bnt  coaches,  carts,  and  horses 
passed  over. 


U 


€C 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


45 


"January  16th. — The  Thames  was  filled   with  people 
and  tents,  selling  all  sorts  of  wares  as  in  the  city. 

"  January  24th. — The  frost  continuing  more  and  more 
severe,  the  Thames  before  London  was  still  planted  with 
booths  in  formal  streets,  all  sorts  of  trades  and  shops 
furnished,  and  full  of  commodities,  even  to  a  printing  press, 
where  the  people  and  ladies  took  a  fancy  to  have  their 
names  printed,  and  the   day  and  year  set  down   when 
printed  on  the  Thames.    This  humour  took  so  universally^ 
that  it  was  estimated  the  printer  gained  £5  a  day  for 
printing  a  line  only,  at  sixpence  a  name,  besides  what  he 
got  by  ballads,  &c.     Coaches  plied  from  Westminster  to 
the  Temple,  and  from  several  other  stairs  to  and  fro,  as  in 
the  streets,  sheds,  sliding  with  skates,  a  bull-baiting,  horse 
and  coach  races,  puppet-plays  and  interludes,  casks,  tipp- 
ling, and  other  lewd  plans,  so  that  it  seemed  to  be  a  Baccha- 
nalian triumph,  a  carnival  on  the  water,  whilst  it  was  a 
severe  judgment  on  the  land,  the  trees  not  only  splitting 
as  if  lightning-struck,  but  men  and  cattle  perishing  in 
divers  places,  and  the  very  seas  so  locked  up  with  ice,  that 
no  vessels  could  stir  out  or  come  in.     The  fowls,  fish,  and 
birds,  and  all  our  exotic  plants  and  greens,  universally 
perishing.     Many  packs  of  deer  were  destroyed,  and  all 
sorts  of  food  so  dear,  that  there  were  great  contributions 
made  to  preserve  the  poor  alive.    Nor  was  this  severe 
weather  much  less  intense  in  most  parts  of  Europe,  even 
as  far  as  Spain  and  the  most  southern  tracts.     London, 
by  reason  of  the  excessive  coldness  of  the  air  hindering  the 
ascent  of  the  smoke,  was  so  filled  with  the  fuliginous 
steam  of  the  sea  coal,  that  hardly  could  one  see  across  the 
streets,  and  this  filling  the  lungs  with  its  gross  particles, 


-411 


THE  MEEUT  MONAECH ; 


exceedingly  obstructed  the  breast,  so  as  one  could  scarcely 
breathe.  Here  was  no  water  to  be  had  from  the  pipes 
and  engines,  nor  could  the  bearers  and  divers  other 
tradesmen  work,  and  every  moment  was  full  of  disastrous 
accidents." 

The  frost  lasted  for  seven  weeks,  producing  ice  eighteen 
inches  thick.  The  pastimes  on  the  river  were  visited  by 
King  Charles,  accompanied  by  his  Queen,  the  Princesses 
Mary  and  Anne,  and  Prince  George  of  Denmark,  on  the 
31st  of  January. 

The  Thames  had  previously  been  frozen  over  in  1564 ; 
and  the  same  thing  has  since  occurred  in  1715-16,  1740, 
1788-9,  and  1814. 

"  1685,  January  25.— Dr.  Dove  preached  before  the  King. 
I  saw  this  evening  such  a  scene  of  profuse  gaming,  and 
the  King  in  the  midst  of  his  three  concubines,^  as  I  had 
never  before  seen — ^luxurious  dallying  and  profaneness." 

"  February  4th.— I  went  to  London,  hearing  His  Majesty 
had  been  the  Monday  before  (February  2),  surprised  in  his 
bed-chamber  with  an  apoplectic  fit,  so  that  if,  by  God's 
providence.  Dr.  King  (that  excellent  chirurgeon  as  well  as 
physician)  had  not  been  accidentally  present  to  let  him 
bleed  (having  his  lancet  in  his  pocket)  f  His  Majesty  had 
certainly  died  that  moment ;  which  might  have  been  of 
direful  consequence,  there  being  nobody  else  present  with 
the  King  save  this  doctor  and  one  more,  as  I  am  assured. 
It  was  a  mark  of  the  extraordinary  dexterity,  resolution, 
and  presence  of  mind  in  the  doctor  to  let  him  blood  in  the 
very  paroxysm,  without  staying  the  coming  of  other  physi- 
cians, which  regularly  should  have  been  done,  and  for  want 

*  Barbara,  Duchess  of   Cleveland;  Loaise  de   la   Qaerouaille,  Duchess 
of  Portsmouth ;  and  llortensia  Mancini,  Duchess  of  Mazariu. 
\  Others  say  a  penknife  was  used. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


47 


of  which  he  must  have  a  regular  pardon,  as  they  tell  me.* 
This  rescued  His  Majesty  for  the  instant,  but  it  was  only 
a  short  reprieve.  Ee  still  complained,  and  was  relapsing, 
often  fainting,  with  sometimes  epileptic  symptoms  till 
Wednesday,  for  which  he  was  cupped,  let  bleed  in  both 
jugulars,  had  both  vomit  and  purges,  which  so  relieved  him 
that  on  Thursday  hopes  of  recovery  were  signified  in  the 
public  Gazettes  ;  but  that  day,  about  noon,  the  physicians 
thought  him  feverish.  This  they  seemed  glad  of,  as  being 
more  easily  allayed  and  methodically  dealt  with  than  his 
former  fits ;  so  they  prescribed  the  famous  Jesuit's  powder. 
But  it  made  him  worse,  and  some  very  able  doctors  who 
were  present  did  not  think  it  a  fever,  but  the  effect  of  his 
frequent  bleeding  and  other  sharp  operations  used  by  them 
about  his  head,  so  that  probably  the  powder  might  stop 
the  circulation  and  renew  his  former  fits,  which  now  made 
him  very  weak.  Thus  he  passed  Thursday  night  with 
great  difficulty  ;  when,  complaining  of  a  pain  in  his  side, 
they  drew  twelve  ounces  more  of  blood  from  him.  This 
was  by  six  in  the  morning  on  Friday,  and  it  gave  him  relief ; 
but  it  did  not  continue,  for  being  now  in  much  pain,  and 
struggling  for  breath,  he  lay  dying,  and,  after  some  con- 
flicts, the  physicians  despairing  of  him,  he  gave  up  the 
ghost  at  half  an  hour  after  eleven  in  the  morning,  being 
the  6th  of  February,  1685." 

Evelyn  adds  an  inevitable  moral  reflection : — 

"  I  can  never  forget  the  inexpressible  luxury  and  pro- 

f.ineness,  gaming  and  all  dissoluteness,  and,  as  it  were, 

total  forgetfulness  of  God  (it  being  Sunday  evening),  which 

this  day  se'nnight  I  was  witness  ^of,  the  King  sitting  and 


*  The  Privy  Council  approved  of  his  action,  and  ordered  him  a  gift  of 
i;ljOOO,  but  it  was  never  paid. 


48 


THE  MEEEY  MONAECH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


49 


toying  witli  liis  concubines,  Portsmoutli,  Cleveland,  and 
Mazarin,  etc.,  a  French  boy  singing  love-songs  in  that 
glorious  gallery,  whilst  about  twenty  of  the  great  courtiers 
and  other  dissolute  persons  were  at  basset  round  a  large 
gallery-table,  a  bank  of  at  least  £2,000  in  gold  before  them ; 
upon  which  two  gentlemen  who  were  with  me  made  reflec- 
tions with  astonishment.     Six  days  after,  all  was  in  the 

dust ! " 

To  Evelyn's  narrative  it  is  necessary  to  add  a  few  details. 
On  the  Thursday,  when  the  King's  illness  was  understood 
to  be  mortal,  two  Enghsh  bishops  presented  themselves  at 
his  bedside.  He  said  he  was  sorry  for  all  he  had  done  amiss, 
accepted  absolution  from  Bishop  Ken,  but  steadily  refused 
the  Communion.      The   Duchess   of  Portsmouth,  whose 
grief  seems  to  have  been  sincere,  informed  the  French 
Ambassador,  Barillon,  that  the  King  was  really  a  Catholic, 
and  urged  him  to  tell  the  Duke  of  "York  that,  if  any  time 
were  lost,  his  brother  would  die  out  of  the  pale  of  the 
Church.  James  hastened  to  ask  the  King  whether  he  should 
send  for  a  priest.     ''  For  God's  sake,  brother,  do,"  said  the 
King,  "  and  lose  no  time."     But  then,   considering  the 
possiblepoliticalconsequences,  he  added:  "Will  you  not 
expose  yourself  too  much  by  doing  it?''^    "Sir,  though 
it  cost  me  my  life,"  answered  the  Duke,  "  I  will  bring  one 
to  you."     Not  without  some  difficulty  he  found  Father 
Huddleston,    a    Benedictine   monk,  whom  he   conveyed 
secretly  up  a  back  staircase,  disguised  by  a  flowing  wig 
and  a  large  cloak,  and  introduced  into  the  royal  bed- 
chamber, where  the  Earls  of  Bath  and  Feversham  were  in 
attendance.     Charles,  it  is  said,  received  the  priest  with 
great  joy  and  satisfaction,  assuring  him  of  his  desire  to 
die  in  the  faith  and  communion  of  the  Church  Catholic ;. 


that  he  was  most  heartily  sorry  for  the  sins  of  his  past  life, 
and  particularly  for  having  deferred  his  conversion  so  lon^r : 
that  he  trusted,  nevertheless,  in  the  merits  of  Christ ;  that 
he  died  in  charity  with  all  the  world ;  that  he  forgave  his 
enemies,  and  asked  forgiveness  of  those  whom  he  had  in 
any  way  offended  ;  and,  lastly,  declaring  his  resolve,  if  it 
pleased  God  that  he  should  recover,  with  His  assistance  to 
amend  his  hfe.     He  then  made  confession  of  his  whole  life 
with  exceeding  tenderness  of  heart,  and  pronounced  an 
act  of  contrition  with  great  piety  and  compunction.     He 
continued  to  malje  pious  ejaculations,  and  frequently  lift- 
ing up  his  hands,  exclaimed,  "  Mercy,  sweet  Jesus,  mercy," 
until  the  priest  was  ready  to  give  him  extreme  unction. 
Afterwards,  he  raised  himself  up  to  receive  the  Sacrament, 
saying  :  "  Let  me  meet  my   heavenly  Lord   in   a  better 
posture  than  lying  on  my  bed."     Having  communicated, 
he  remarked  to  Huddleston,  who  had  assisted  him  in  his 
escape  after  the  Battle  of  Worcester,    "  You  have  saved 
me  twice,  first  my  body,  and  now  my  soul." 

The  Queen  sent  to  ask  the  dying  man's  pardon  for  any 
offence  she  might  have  committed.  '*  Alas,  poor  woman  !  " 
he  said.  "  She  beg  my  pardon  !  I  beg  hers  with  all  my 
heart."  She  had  been  present  during  the  earlier  stages  of 
his  illness.  With  the  graceful  urbanity  that  was  natural  to 
him,  he  apologised  to  his  attendants  for  being  so  uncon- 
scionably long  in  dying.  To  the  Duke  of  York  he  recom- 
mended the  care  of  his  natural  children.  He  begged  him 
also  to  be  kind  to  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  and  added, 
"Take  care  of  Querouaille,  and  do  not  let  poor  Nelly  starve.'' 
A  minute  account  of  his  last  hours  is  given  by  the  Rev. 
Francis  Eoper,  chaplain  to  the  Bishop  of  Ely,  who  was 
allowed  to  be  present  :— 


VOL.    I. 


E 


60 


THE   MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


"Tlie  King  showed  himself,"  he  says,  "throughout  his 
illness,  one  of  the    best-natured    men  that  ever  lived  ; 
and,  by  abundance  of  fine  things  he  said  in  reference  to 
his  soul,  he  showed  he  died  as  good  a  Christian  :  and  the 
phjsicians,  who  have  seen  so  many  leave  this  world,  do 
say  they  never  saw  the  like  as  to  his  courage ;  so  uncon- 
cerned he  was  as  to  death,  though  sensible  to  all  degrees 
imaginable,  to  the  very  last.     He  every  now  and  then 
would  seem  to  wish  for  death,  and  beg  the  pardon  of  the 
standers  by,  and  those  that  were  employed  about  him, 
that  he  gave  them  so  much  trouble ;  that  he  hoped  the 
work  was  almost  over  :  he  was  weary  of  this  world :  he  had 
had  enough  of  it,  and  was  going  to  a  better.     There  was 
so  much  affection  and  tenderness  expressed  between  the 
two  royal  brothers,  the  one  upon  the  bed,  the  other  almost 
drowned  in  tears  upon  his  knees,  and  kissing  of  his  dying 
brother's  hand,   as    could   not   but  extremely  move  the 
standers  by.     He  thanked  our  present  King  for  having 
always  been   the   best   of  brothers   and  of  friends,  and 
begged  his  pardon  for  the  several   risks   of   fortune    he 
had  run  on  his  account.     He  told  him  now  he  had  freely 
left  him  all,  and  begged  of  God  to  bless  him  with  a  pros- 
perous reign.  .  .  .  He  blessed  all  his  children  one  by  one 
(except  the  Duke  of  Monmouth),  pulling  them  to  him  on 
the  bed.     And  then  the  bishops  moved  him,  as  he  was  the 
Lord's  Anointed,  and  the  father  of  his  country,  to  bless 
them  also,  and  all  that  were  there  present,  and  in  them 
the  whole  body  of  his  subjects.     Whereupon,  the  room 
being  full,  all  fell  down  upon  their  knees,  and  he  raised 
himself  on  his  bed  and  very  solemnly  blessed  them  all." 

On  the  morning  of  his  death  he  asked  the  hour,  and, 
being  told  it  was  six  o'clock,  "  Open  the  cui'tains,"  he 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


51 


said,  "  that  I  may  once  more  see  day."  His  sufferings 
were  very  severe,  and  at  half-past  eight  it  was  with  the 
utmost  difficulty  he  could  speak.  As  long  as  the  power  of 
speech  remained  he  could  be  heard  uttering  the  name  of 
God,  and  begging  pardon  for  his  offences.  Even  when 
speechless,  he  showed  by  lifting  up  his  hands,  and  by  the 
expression  of  his  countenance,  the  great  thought  that  oc- 
cupied his  mind.  "  He  disposed  himself  to  die,"  says  one 
authority,  "with  the  piety  and  unconcernedness  becoming 
a  Christian,  and  the  resolution  becoming  a  King."  Bishop 
Burnet  admits  that  "he  went  through  the  agonies  of 
death  with  a  calm  and  constancy  that  amazed  all  who 
were  about  him."  And  Lord  Chesterfield  says  that  "  he 
died  as  a  good  Christian,  asking  and  praying  often  for 
God's  and  Christ's  mercy;  as  a  man  of  great  and  un- 
daunted courage,  in  never  repining  at  the  loss  of  life,  or 
for  that  of  three  kingdoms." 

Charles  II.,  when  he  died,  was  in  the  fifty-fifth  year  of 
his  age,  and  the  twenty-fifth  year  of  his  reign. 


Samuel  Pepys,  the  author  of  the  well-known  Diary,  was 
descended  from  a  younger  branch  of  the  ancient  family  of 
that  name,  who,  early  in  the  sixteenth  century,  settled  at 
Cottenham,  in  Cambridgeshire.  His  father,  John  PejDys, 
was  a  citizen  of  London,  and  followed  the  trade  of  a  tailor 
until  IGCO,  when,  having  inherited  from  an  elder  brother 
a  small  estate  at  Brampton,  near  Huntingdon,  he  retired 
thither,  and  in  this  rural  seclusion  ended  his  days  in 
1680. 

Samuel  Pepys  was  born  on  the  23rd  of  February,  1633, 
either  at  Brampton  or  in  London.  It  is  certain  that  he 
received  his   early   education  at  Huntingdon,  and   was 


62 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  J 


thence  remoTed  to  St.  Paul's  School.  In  1650  he  en- 
tered Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  as  a  sizar ;  but,  before 
the  period  of  academical  residence  began,  was  transferred 
to  Magdalene,  where,  in  1651,  he  obtained  a  scholarship 
on  Dr.  Smith's  foundation.  There  is  no  evidence  in  his 
later  life  that  he  profited  to  any  great  extent  by  the 
University  teaching,  while  the  Registrar's  book  of  the 
College  contains  an  entry  which  seems  to  show  that  he 
loved  wine  and  "  good  company "  over-much.  On  the 
21st  of  October,  1653,  Mr.  John  Wood,  Registrar,  records 
"that  Pepys  and  Hind  were  solemnly  admonished  by 
myself  and  Mr.  Hill  for  having  been  scandalously  over- 
served  with  drink  the  night  before.  This  was  done  in  the 
presence  of  all  the  Fellows  then  resident,  in  Mr.  Hill's 
Chamber."  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  admonition  did 
Mr.  Pepys  good ! 

At  the  age  of  twenty-three  Mr.  Pepys  fell  in  love  with 
a  beautiful  Somersetshire  girl,  named  Elizabeth  St. 
Michel,  and,  though  without  occupation  or  vocation, 
married  her.  She  was  only  fifteen,  and  had  no  other 
dowry  than  her  charming  face  and  figure.  The  penniless 
but  susceptible  young  couple  were  generously  received 
into  the  household  of  the  enamoured  bridegroom's  cousin. 
Sir  Edward  Montague  (afterwards  Earl  of  Sandwich), 
who,  throughout  his  public  career,  continued  to  be  a  firm 
and  liberal  friend  and  patron.  Pepys  accompanied  the 
gallant  seaman  on  his  expedition  to  the  Sound,  and,  on 
his  return,  was  appointed,  through  his  kinsman's  in- 
fluence, to  a  clerkship  in  the  Exchequer.  In  1660,  as 
secretary  to  the  two  Generals  of  the  Elect,  he  went  to 
Scheveling  on  board  Sir  Edward's  flag-ship  to  bring  home 
Charles  II.     At  the  Restoration,  Montague  was  rewarded 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


53 


for  his  services  with  the  Earldom  of  Sandwich,  and  was 
made  Keeper  of  the  Great  Wardrobe  and  Clerk  of  the 
Privy  Seal.  The  sunshine  of  his  prosperity  embraced  his 
young  cousin,  who,  in  June,  1660,  was  promoted  to  the 
Clerkship  of  the  Acts  of  the  Navy.  The  business  capa- 
city which  he  developed  in  this  position  secured  him  the 
confidence  and  favour  of  his  superiors,  and  among  them 
of  the  Lord  High  Admiral,  the  Duke  of  York.  Though 
by  no  means  averse  to  pleasure — with  a  strong  liking  for 
plays  and  music,  and  a  still  stronger  liking  for  pretty 
women — he  discharged  his  official  duties  with  praise- 
worthy conscientiousness,  and  an  industry  that  was  then 
regarded  as  exceptional.  The  interests  of  the  "N'avy  he 
had  deeply  at  heart,  and  strove  earnestly  to  protect  them 
against  the  peculation  and  jobbery  by  which  he  was  sur- 
rounded. He  endeavoured  to  check  the  wastefulness  that 
was  rampant  in  the  dockyards ;  fought  bravely  against 
the  dishonesty  of  the  contractors  ;  unceasingly  advocated 
the  promotion  of  the  older  officers ;  and  did  not  fail  to 
protest  against  the  influence  so  injuriously  exercised  by 
the  courtiers  and  royal  favourites.  It  must  always  be  re- 
membered to  his  honour  that  he  remained  at  his  post 
when  London  was  stricken  with  the  Plague,  and,  as  every 
branch  of  the  service  was  then  deserted,  undertook  the 
res|)onsibility  of  the  whole  naval  administration.  "  The 
sickness  in  general  thickens  round  us,"  he  wrote  to  Sir 
"William  Coventry,  "and  particularly  upon  our  neigh- 
bourhood. You,  sir,  took  your  turn  of  the  sword;  I 
must  not,  therefore,  grudge  to  take  mine  of  the  pesti- 
lence." 

Soon  afterwards  he  was  appointed  Treasurer  to  the 
Tangiers   Commissioners    and   Surveyor-General    of   the 


54 


THE   MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


Victualling  Department,   resigning  tte   latter   office   on 
the  conclusion  of  peace  with  Holland. 

After  the  shameful  event  of  the  appearance  of  a  victo- 
rious Dutch  fleet  in  the  Medwaj,  the  House  of  Commons 
ordered  an  inquiry  into  the  causes  of  the  breakdown  of 
the  naval  defences  of  the  country.  On  March  5th,  1668, 
the  officers  of  the  Navy  Board  were  summoned  to  the  bar 
of  the  House,  and  attended  in  the  full  expectation  of 
censure  and  dismissal,  though,  in  the  face  of  overwhelm- 
ing difficulties,  they  had  done  their  best.  The  debts  of 
the  office  exceeded  £900,000 ;  its  credit  was  forfeited ;  the 
sailors  and  dockyardsmen  had  mutinied  for  want  of 
wages ;  no  money  could  be  procured  either  from  the 
Treasui-y  or  the  Bankers;  and  the  equipment  of  the 
fleet  had  been  suspended  when  its  services  were  most 
required.  Everything  had  conspired  to  embitter  the 
Commons  against  the  unfortunate  officials;  but  Pepys, 
appointed  their  spokesman,  in  a  vigorous  and  conclusive 
speech  of  three  hours'  duration,  made  so  complete  a 
defence  that  the  House  dropped  the  proposed  investi- 
gation. 

Pepys  made  no  similar  oratorical  effort,  though  he  sat 
in  the  House  for  many  years,  first  as  member  for  Castle 
Eising,  and  afterwards  as  member  for  Harwich.  In  1669 
the  prosperous  career,  on  which  he  dilates  with  so  much 
complacency  in  his  Diary,  was  interrupted  by  an  opthalmic 
affection,  which  rendered  necessary  a  long  holiday  on  the 
Continent ;  and  this  was  followed,  on  his  return  home,  by 
the  unexpected  death  of  his  wife,  on  the  10th  of  Novem- 
ber, at  the  early  age  of  29. 

In  the  opening  weeks  of  1673,  an  attempt,  originating 
with  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  was  made  to  discredit  him 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


55 


as  a  Papist ;  but  it  failed.  And,  in  the  summer,  when 
the  Duke  of  York  was  compelled  by  the  passing  of  the 
Test  Act  to  resign  all  his  employments,  he  was  appointed 
Secretary  to  the  Navy.  He  found  ample  scope  for  his 
administrative  ability  in  this  important  office,  until,  in 
1679,  he  was  falsely  accused  of  being  implicated  in  the 
Popish  plot,  and  thrown  into  the  Tower.  The  favour 
always  shown  to  him  by  the  Duke  of  York  seems  to  have 
been  the  motive  of  this  attack,  from  which  he  did  not  get 
entirely  free  until  February,  1680. 

In  Sej)tember,  1683,  Pepys,  by  order  of  the  King, 
accompanied  Lord  Dartmouth  on  the  expedition  against 
Tangiers;  and  in  the  following  year,  when  Charles  assumed 
the  office  of  Lord  High  Admiral,  he  appointed  him  to  the 
Secretaryship  of  the  Admiralty,  with  a  salary  of  £500  per 
annum.  He  continued  to  hold  this  employment  until  the 
close  of  the  reign  of  James  II. ;  and  the  reorganization 
of  the  Navy,  which  is  sometimes  carried  to  the  credit  of 
the  Sovereign,  was  unquestionably  due  to  the  Secretary's 
laborious  and  sagacious  initiative. 

At  the  Restoration,  Pepys  was  dismissed  from  all  his 
offices,  and  the  electors  of  Harwich,  suspecting  him  of 
favoui'ing  the  cause  of  James  II.,  refused  to  re-elect  him  as 
their  representative.  After  a  brief  confinement  in  the 
Gatehouse,  he  was  allowed  to  retire  into  private  life, 
where  he  amused  himself  with  the  literary  pursuits  for 
which  he  had  always  an  inclination.  Part  of  his  time  he 
devoted  to  the  arrangement  of  the  extensive  collections 
he  had  made  for  a  general  history  of  the  Navalia  of 
England.  During  1684  and  1685  he  presided  over  the 
Eoyal  Society,  and  for  some  years  was  in  the  habit  of 
entertaining,  on  Saturday  evenings,  in  York  Buildings, 


56 


THE    MEERY   MONAECH  ; 


several  of  its  most  distinguislied  members,  who  « across 
the  walnuts  and  the  wine,"  held  high  discourse  on  literary 
and  scientific  subjects.  He  took  an  active  interest  in  the 
management  of  Christ's  Hospital;  he  was  also  a  consider- 
able benefactor  to  St.  Paul's  School,  and  men  of  letters 
found  in  him  a  generous  and  enlightened  patron.  The 
naturalist  Ray  characterizes  him  as  "  ingenuarum  artium 
et  eruditorum  fautor  et  patronus  ezimius.^* 

His  failing  healtli  compelled  him,  in  1700,  to  give  up 
his  residence  in  York  Buildings,  and  he  retired  to  the  house 
of  his  old  friend  and  servant,  Mr.  William  Hewer,  at 
Clapbam  Common,*  where,  after  a  lingering  illness,  he 
expired  on  the  26th  of  May,  1703,  aged  seventy.  Dean 
Hickes,  who  attended  him  on  his  death-bed,  writes  :  "The 
greatness  of  his  behaviour,  in  liis  long  and  sharp  trial 
before  his  death,  was  in  every  respect  answerable  to  his 
great  life ;  and  I  believe  no  man  ever  went  out  of  this 
world  with  greater  contempt  of  it,  or  a  more  lively  faith 
in  everything  that  was  revealed  of  the  world  to  come.  I 
administered  the  Holy  Sacrament  twice  in  his  illness  to 
him,  and  had  administered  it  a  third  time  but  for  a 
sudden  fit  of  illness  that  happened  at  the  appointed  time 
of  administering  of  it.  Twice  I  gave  him  the  absolution 
of  the  Church,  which  he  desired,  and  received  with  all 
reverence  and  comfort ;  and  I  never  attended  any  sick  or 
dying  person  that  died  with  so  much  Christian  greatness 
of  mind,  or  a  more  lively  sense  of  immortality,  or  so  much 

♦  Evelyn  writes  on  the  23rd  Sept.,  1700  :  "Went  to  visit  Mr.  Pepys  at 
Clapham,  where  he  has  a  very  noble  and  wonderfully  well -furnished  house, 
especially  with  Indian  and  Chinese  curiosities.''  He  afterwards  refers  toit 
as  "Your  Paradisian  Clapham."  The  house  had  belonged  to  Dr.  John 
Gauden,  Bishop  of  Exeter,  author  of  the  "  Eikon  Basilike,"  and  after  his 
death  to  his  brother,  Sir  Denis,  who  collected  a  fine  library  and  art-gallery, 
and  died  in  1688.  It  was  then  purchased  by  Mr.  William  Hewer,  who  died 
here  in  1715.    The  house  was  pulled  down  in  1760. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


67 


fortitude  and  patience,  in  so  long  and  sharp  a  trial,  or 
greater  resignation  to  the  v^ill,  which  he  most  devoutly 
acknowledged  to  be  the  wisdom  of  God ;  and  I  doubt  not 
he  is  now  but  a  very  blessed  spirit,  according  to  his  motto, 
Mens  cujusque  is  est  quisqueJ' 

One  of  Pepys^  most  attached  and  oldest  friends  was  his 
brother  Diarist,  John  Evelyn.  Differing  widely  in 
character,  they  were  linked  together  by  their  literary 
and  scientific  tastes. 

An  anonymous  contemporary,  in  the  Supplenient  to 
Collier's  Dictionary,  draws  a  portrait  of  Pepys,  which 
must  be  regarded  as  painted  in  too  llatteiing  colours :  '^It 
may  be  affirmed  of  this  gentleman,"  he  says,  "that  he 
was,  without  exception,  the  greatest  and  most  useful 
Minister  that  ever  filled  the  same  situations  in  England ; 
the  Acts  and  Registers  of  the  Admiralty  proving  this  fact 
beyond  contradiction.  The  principal  rules  and  establish- 
ments in  present  use  in  these  offices  are  well-known  to 
have  been  of  his  introducing,  and  most  of  the  officers 
serving  therein,  since  the  Eestoration,  of  his  bringing  up. 
He  was  a  most  studious  promoter  and  strenuous  assertor 
of  order  and  discipline  through  all  their  dependencies. 
Sobriety,  diligence,  capacity,  loyalty,  and  subjection  to 
command  were  essentials  required  in  all  whom  he 
advanced.  Where  any  of  these  were  found  wanting,  no 
interest  or  authority  were  capable  of  moving  him  in 
favour  of  the  highest  pretending;  the  Eoyal  command 
only  excepted,  of  which  he  was  also  very  watchful,  to 
prevent  any  undue  procurements.  Discharging  his  duty  to 
his  Prince  and  Country  with  a  religious  application  and 
perfect  integrity,  he  feared  no  one,  courted  no  one,  and 
neglected  his  own  fortune.    Besides  this,  he  was  a  person 


58 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH 


of  universal  wortli,  and  in  great  estimation  among  tlie 
Literati,  for  liis  unbounded  reading,  his  sound  judgment, 
his  great  elocution,  his  mastery  in  method,  his  singular 
curiosity,  and  his  uncommon  munificence  towards  the 
advancement  of  learning,  arts,  and  industry,  in  all 
degrees  :  to  which  were  joined  the  severest  morality  of  a 
philosopher,  and  all  the  polite  accomplishments  of  a 
gentleman,  particularly  those  of  music,  languages,  con- 
versation, and  address.  He  assisted,  as  one  of  the  Barons 
of  the  Cinque  Ports,  at  the  Coronation  of  James  II.,  and 
was  a  standing  Governor  of  all  the  principal  houses  of 
charity  in  and  about  London,  and  sat  at  the  head  of  many 
other  honourable  bodies,  in  divers  of  which,  as  he  deemed 
their  constitution  and  methods  deserving,  he  left  lasting 
monuments  of  his  bounty  and  patronage." 

The  remarkable  Diary  which  constitutes  his  best  claim 
to  remembrance  he  begun  to  keep  on  the  1st  of  Januaiy, 
and  he  continued  it  for  upwards  of  nine  years,  when  his 
failing  eyesight  compelled  him  to  abandon  his  daily  task. 
It  is  written  in  shorthand,  the  cipher  used  bearing  a  close 
resemblance  to  that  which  was  long  in  vogue  as  Eich's 
system.  Forming  six  manuscript  volumes,  the  Diary  was 
included  among  the  books  and  papers  which  Pepys 
bequeathed  to  Magdalene  College ;  but  its  valuable  con- 
tents were  not  made  public  until  Lord  Braybrooke's  edition 
appeared  in  1825.  A  fuller  edition  has  since  been  pub- 
lished by  the  Eev.  Mynors  Bright. 

The  Diary  is  as  unique  of  its  kind  as  the  "  Autobiography 
of  Thomas  Bunche,"  by  Amory,  or  Hazlitt's  "  Liber 
Amoiis.'*  In  its  frank  self-revelations,  it  stands  un- 
equalled. Probably  regarding  his  secrets  as  safe  in  their 
cipher  embodiment,  Pepys  jotted  down  his  most  private 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


59 


thoughts  and  the  minutest  details  of  his  household 
economy.  He  put  on  record  his  egotism,  his  love  of 
flattery,  his  likings  and  dislikings,  his  petty  disagree- 
ments with  his  wife  (of  whom,  however,  he  was  exceed- 
ingly fond),  and  his  not  very  creditable  flirtations  with  the 
pretty  women  whom  his  large  circle  of  acquaintanceship 
embraced.  He  hides  nothing  of  himself,  nor  from  himself ; 
and  writes  down  his  selfish  and  crafty  little  deeds  of  wicked- 
ness as  candidly  as  he  does  the  great  public  events  of  his 
day.  We  must  grant  that  he  was  a  man  of  wide  and 
liberal  sympathies.  His  vivacity  was  inexhaustible,  and 
it  was  with  an  interest  ever  fresh  he  turned  to  the  last  new 
play,  the  last  new  song,  the  last  new  beauty,  or  the  last 
new  discovery  in  science.  He  puts  down,  with  equal 
gravity,  his  assumption  of  "  a  false  taby  wastecoate  with 
gold  lace,"  and  the  progress  of  the  Plague  in  London. 
He  preserves  at  almost  equal  length  his  discourses  on 
high  affairs  of  State,  and  his  junketings  with  Mrs.  Pierce 
and  Mrs.  Knip.  Unlike  Evelyn,  he  has  no  sense  of 
dignity — he  does  not  think  it  beneath  him  to  make  formal 
entry  that  "  I  dined  with  my  wife  upon  a  most  excellent 
dish  of  tripes  of  my  own  directing,  covered  with  mustard, 
as  I  have  heretofore  seen  them  done  at  my  Lord  Crewe's, 
of  which  I  made  a  very  great  meal,  and  sent  for  a  glass 
of  wine  for  myself."  The  fact  is,  everything  in  which 
Samuel  Pepys  was  concerned  was  to  Samuel  Pepys,  for 
the  time  being,  an  event  of  engrossing  importance,  than 
which  the  whole  world  presented  nothing  greater. 

It  was  fortunate  for  posterity  that  this  egotistical, 
gossiping,  self-seeking,  yet  shrewd  observer,  was  led  to 
keep  the  detailed  record  of  the  early  years  of  Charles  II.'s 
reign  which  his  Diary  presents.     Its  audaciously  candid 


60 


THE   MEREY   MONARCH; 


talk  makes  it  invaluable.  It  is  the  very  minuteness  of 
its  details  which  renders  it  so  precious,  for  it  enables  us 
to  fill  uj)  the  outlines  in  which  historians  love  to  deal. 
"Pepjs/'  says  Lord  Jeffrey,  ^' seems  to  have  been 
possessed  of  the  most  extraordinary  activity,  and  the 
most  indiscriminating,  insatiable,  and  miscellaneous 
curiosity  that  ever  prompted  the  researches  or  supplied 
the  pen  of  a  daily  chronicler.  He  finds  time  to  go  to 
every  play,  to  every  execution,  to  every  procession,  fire, 
concert,  riot,  trial,  review,  city  feast,  or  picture-gallery  that 
he  can  hear  of.  Nay,  there  seems  scarcely  to  have  been  a 
school  examination,  a  wedding,  christening,  charity 
sermon,  bull-baiting,  philosophical  meeting,  or  private 
merry-making  in  his  neighbourhood  at  which  he  is  not 
sure  to  make  his  appearance,  and  mindful  to  record  all 
the  particulars.  He  is  the  first  to  hear  all  the  Court 
scandal,  and  all  the  public  news — to  observe  the  changes 
of  fashion  and  the  downfall  of  parties — to  pick  up  family 
gossip,  and  to  detail  philosophical  intelligence — to  criti- 
cize every  new  house  or  carriage  that  is  built — every  new 
book  or  new  beauty  that  appears — every  measure  the  King 
adopts,  and  every  mistress  he  discards." 

The  interest  and  importance  of  the  Diary,  in  the 
number  and  closeness  of  its  photographic  touches,  will 
best  be  shown  by  a  few  extracts  from  its  crowded  pages. 
We  have  said  that  he  went  with  Sir  Edward  Montague  to 
bring  back  Charles  II.  to  his  recovered  kingdom.  Here  is 
his  description,  characteristic  in  every  touch,  of  the 
King's  landing  : — 

'^1660,  May  25th. — By  the  morning  we  were  come  close 
to  the  land,  and  everybody  made  ready  to  get  on  shore. 
The  King  and  the  two  Dukes  did  eat  their  breakfast 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


61 


before  they  went;  and  there  being  set  some  ship's  diet 
before  them,  only  to  show  them  the  manner  of  the  ship's 
diet,  they  eat  of  nothing  else  but  pease  and  pork  and 
boiled  beef.   ...   I  spoke  to  the  Duke  of  York  about 
business,   who   called  me  Pepys  hy  name   [ah,   what   an 
honour  !],  and  upon  my  desire  did  promise  me  his  future 
favour.     Great  expectation  of  the  King's  making  some 
Knights,  but  there  was  none.     About  noon  (though  the 
brigantine  that  Beale  made  was  then  ready  to  carry  him) 
yet  he  would  go  in  my  Lord's  barge  with  the  two  Dukes. 
Our  captain  steered,  and  my  Lord  went  along  bare  with  him. 
I  went,  and  Mr  Mansell,  and  one  of  the  King's  footmen, 
and  a  dog  that  the  King  loved,  in  a  boat  by  ourselves, 
and  so  got  on  shore  when  the  King  did,  who  was  received 
by  General  Monk*  with  all  imaginable  love  and  respect 
at  his  entrance   upon  the  land  at  Dover.     Infinite  the 
crowd   of   people   and  the   gallantry  of    the  horsemen, 
citizens,  and  noblemen  of  all  sorts.     The  Mayor  of  the 
town  came  and  give  him  his  white  staff,  the  badge  of  his 
place,  which  the  King  did  give  him  again.     The  Mayor 
also  presented  him  from  the  town  a  very  rich  Bible,  which 
he  took,  and  said  it  was  the  thing  that  he  loved  above  all 
things  in  the  world,  A  canopy  was  provided  for  him  to  stand 
under,  which  he  did,  and  talked  awhile  with  General  Monk 
and  others,  and  so  into  a  stately  coach  there  set  for  him, 
and   so   away   through  the    town    towards    Canterbury, 
without  making  any  stay  at  Dover.     The  shouting  and 
joy  expressed  by  all  is  past  imagination.     Seeing  that  my 
Lord  did  not  stir  out  of  his  barge,  I  got  into  a  boat,  and 
so  into  his  barge,  and  we  back  to  the  ship,  seeing  a  man 

*  "  To  receive  His  Majesty  as  a  malefactor  would  his  pardon,"    b&jb 
Monk's  biographer. 


62 


THE  MEERT  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


63 


almost  drowned  tliat  fell  into  the  sea.  My  Lord  almost 
transported  with  joy  that  he  had  done  all  this  without 
any  the  least  blur  or  obstruction  in  the  world,  that  could 
give  offence  to  any,  and  with  the  great  honour  he  thought 
it  would  be  to  him." 

On  the  next  day  but  one,  May  27th,  Montague  was 
made  a  Knight  of  the  Garter.  Other  honours  followed, 
as  the  wary  seaman  had  calculated. 

"June  23rd. — To  my  Lord's  lodgings,  where  Tom  Guy 
came  to  me,  and  there  stayed  to  see  the  King  touch  people 
for  the  King's  Evil.  But  he  did  not  come  at  all,  it  rained 
so  ;  and  the  poor  people  were  forced  to  stand  all  the 
morning  in  the  rain  in  the  garden.  Afterwards  he  touched 
them  in  the  Banqueting-House." 

This  superstitious  ceremony  was  of  great  antiquity,  dat- 
ing back  as  far,  perhaps,  as  the  reign  of  Edward  the  Con- 
fessor. It  had  fallen  into  disuse  during  the  Civil  War,  but 
revived  at  the  Restoration  with  increased  popularity,  so 
that  in  the  first  four  years  of  Charles's  reign  he  *'  touched  " 
nearly  24,000  persons.  It  ex[)ired  in  the  reign  of  George  I. 

Here  is  a  quaint  little  personal  touch  : — 

"  July  1st  (Lord's  Day). — Infinite  of  business,  my  heart 
and  head  full.  Met  with  Purser  Washington,  with  whom 
and  a  lady,  a  friend  of  his,  I  dined  at  the  Bell  Tavern  in 
King  Street,  but  the  rogue  had  no  more  manners  than  to 
invite  me,  and  to  let  me  pay  my  club.  This  morning 
came  home  my  fine  camlet  cloak,  with  gold  buttons,  and 
a  silk  suit,  which  cost  me  much  money,  and  I  pray  God 
to  make  me  able  to  pay  for  it." 

''  July  8th  (Lord's  Day).  To  White  Hall  Chapel,  where 
I  got  in  with  ease  by  going  before  the  Lord  Chancellor 
with  Mr.  Kipps.     Here  I  heard  very  good  musique,  the 


first  time  that  ever  I  remember  to  have  heard  the  organs, 
and  singing-men  in  surplices  in  my  life." 

"  July  25th.— I  did  send  for  a  cup  of  tee  (a  China  drink), 
of  which  I  never  had  drank  before." 

Tea  was  sold  in  almost  every  street  at  this  time,  but 
was  so  valuable  that  the  infusion  of  it  in  water  was  taxed 
by  the  gallon,  in  common  with  chocolate  and  sherbet. 

"  Dec.  1st.— This  morning,  observing  some  things  to  be 
laid  up  not  as  they  should  be  by  my  girl,  I  took  a  broom 
and  basted  her  till  she  cried  extremely,  which  made  me 
vexed  ;  but,  before  I  went  out,  I  left  her  appeased." 

"Dec.  2nd  (Lord's  Day).— To  church,  and  Mr.  Mills 
made  a  good  sermon ;  so  home  to  dinner.  My  wife  and  I 
all  alone  to  a  leg  of  mutton,  the  sauce  of  which  being 
made  sweet,  I  was  angry  at  it,  and  eat  none,  but  only 
dined  upon  the  marrow-bone  that  we  had  beside." 

"  March  23rd.— To  the  Eed  Bull  ^  (where  I  had  not 
been  since  plays  came  up  again)  up  to  the  tireing-room ; 
where  strange  the  confusion  and  disorder  that  there  is 
among  them  in  fitting  themselves,  especially  here,  where 
the  clothes  are  very  poor,  and  the  actors  but  common 
fellows.  At  last  into  the  pit,  where  I  think  there  was 
not  above  ten  more  than  myself,  and  not  one  hundred  in 
the  whole  house.  And  the  play,  which  is  called  ''  All's 
Lost  but  Lust,"  poorly  done ;  and  with  so  much  disorder, 
among  others,  in  the  music-room,  the  boy  that  was  to 
sing  a  song,  not  singing  it  right,  his  master  fell  about  his 
ears  and  beat  him  so,  that  it  put  the  whole  house  into  an 
uproar." 

t  A  minor  theatre  in  St.  John's  Street,  Clerkenwell,  described  as  :— 

*'  That  degenerate  stage, 
Where  none  of  the  untamed  kennel  can  rehearse 
A  line  of  serioas  sense." 


IBBpr 


64 


THE  MEERT  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


65 


€€ 


April  2nd.— To  St.  James's  Park,  where  I  saw  the 
Duke  of  York  playing  at  Pele  Mele,  the  first  time  that  ever 
I  saw  the  sport." 

Pele  Mele,  from  the  French  faille  maille*  the  name  of 
a  popular  game,  and  of  the  place  where  it  was  practised. 
A  round  box  bowl  had  to  be  struck  with  a  mallet  through 
a  high  arch  of  iron  or  raised  ring,  standing  at  either  end  of 
an  alley;  and  he  who  did  this  at  the  fewest  blows,  or  at 
the  number  agreed  on,  won.  Charles  II.,  who  was  fond 
ol  the  game,  caused  a  Pele  Mele  to  be  made  "at  the 
further  end  of  St.  James's  Park,"  what  is  now  called  the 
Mall ;  but  one  had  formerly  existed  on  the  site  of  the 
present  Pall  Mall.     Says  Waller  : — 

"  Here  a  well-polished  mall  gives  ua  the  joy 
To  Bee  our  Prioce  his  matchless  force  employ  ; 
Hia  manly  posture  and  his  graceful  mien  ; 
Yigour  and  youth  in  all  his  motions  seen; 
No  sooner  has  he  touched  the  flying  ball, 
But  'tis  already  more  than  half  the  mall. 
And  such  a  fury  from  his  arm  has  got, 
As  from  a  smoking  culver  in  'twere  shot.'* 

"  November  11th. — Captain  Ferrars  carried  me  the  Qrst 
time  that  ever  I  saw  any  gaming-house,  to  one,  entering 
into  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  at  the  end  of  Bell  Yard,  where 
strange  the  folly  of  men  to  lay  and  lose  so  much  money, 
and  very  glad  I  was  to  see  the  manner  of  a  gamester's 
life,  which  I  see  is  very  miserable,  and  poor,  and  unmanly. 
And  thence  he  took  me  to  a  dancing-school  in  Fleet  Street, 
where  we  saw  a  company  of  pretty  girls  dance,  but  I  do 
not  in  myself  like  to  have  young  girls  exposed  to  so  much 
vanity.  So  to  the  Wardrobe,  where  I  found  my  lady  had 
agreed  upon  a  lace  for  my  wife  at  £6,  which  I  seemed 
much  glad  of  that  it  was  no  more,  though  in  my  mind  I 

•  Which  was  derived  from  the  Italian  Palagamio. 


think  it  too  much,  and  I  pray  God  to  keep  me  so  to  order 
myself  and  my  wife's  expenses,  that  no  inconvenience  in 
purse  or  honour  follow  this  my  prodigality." 

"May  21st.— My  wife  and  I  to  my   Lord's  lodging; 
where  she  and  I  stayed  walking  in  Whitehall  Garden. 
And  in  the  Privy-garden  saw  the  finest  smocks  and  linen 
petticoats  of  my  Lady  Castlemaine's  laced  with  rich  lace 
at  the  bottom  that   ever  I  saw  ;  and  did  me  good  to  look 
at  them.     Sarah  [Lord  Sandwich's  housekeeper]  told  me 
how  the  King  dined  at  my  Lady  Castlemaine's,  and  supped, 
every  day  and  night  last  week ;  and  that  the  night  that 
the  bonfires  were  made  for  joy  of  the  Queen's  arrival,  the 
King  was  there  ;  but  there  was  no  fire  at  her  door,  though 
at  all  the  rest  of  the  doors  almost  in  the  street,  which  was 
much  observed :  and  that  the  King  and  she  did  send  for  a 
pair  of  scales  and  weighed  one  another ;  and  she,  being 
with  child,^  was  said  to  be  heaviest.     But  she  is  now  a 
most  disconsolate  creature,  and  comes  not  out  of  door, 
since  the  King's  going.     But  we  went  to  the  Theatre,  to 
the  French  Dancing  Mistress    (Master),  and  there  with 
much  pleasure  we  saw  and  gazed  upon  Lady  Castlemaine  ; 
but  it  troubles  us  to  see  her  look  dejectedly,  and  slighted 
by  people  already.     The  play  pleased  us  very  well ;  but 
Lacy's    part,    the    dancing    mistress,    the    best    in    the 
world.'* 

«  May  23rd.— My  wife  and  I  to  the  puppet  play  in  Covent 
Garden,  which  I  saw  the  other  day,  and  indeed  it  is  very 
pleasant." 

Puppet-shows  were  greatly  in  vogue  at  the  Eestoration, 
and  also  in  the  reigns  of  Elizabeth  and  James  I.  The 
reader  will  remember  the  farcical  denouement  of  Ben  Jon- 

*  The  Duke  of  Southampton,  born  in  the  following  May. 
VOL.   I.  y 


66 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


son^s  '^  Bartholomew  Fair,"  wliicli  is  connected  witli  a 
performance  of  the  drama  of  "  Hero  and  Leander,"  by 
pnppets  in  one  of  the  booths  there. 

"  Cokes.— These  he  players,  minors  indeed.      Do  you  call  these  players  ?" 
"  Leatherhead. — They  are  actors,  sir,  and  as  good  as  any,  none  dispraised, 

for  dumb  shows  :  indeed,  I  am  the  mouth  of  them  all.  .  .  ." 

"  Cokes.— Well,  they  are  civil  company,  I  like  'em  for  that ;  they  offer  not 

to  pun,  nor  jeer,  nor  break  jests,  as  the  great  players  do  :  and  then,  there 

goes  not  much  charge  to  the  feasting  of  them,  or  making  them  drunk,  as  to 

the  other,  by  reason  of  their  littleness." 

In  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century  "Paul's 
Puppet-Show"  was  one  of  the  sights  of  London.  It  was 
much  helped  to  its  celebrity,  no  doubt,  by  Steele's  notices 
of  it  in  The  Tatler  (No.  16,  May  15th,  1709). 

"  May  27th. — With  my  wife  and  the  two  maids  and  the 
boy  took  boat  and  to  Fox-hall,  where  I  had  not  been  a 
great  while.  To  the  old  Spring  Garden ;  and  then  walked 
long,  and  the  wenches  gathered  pinks.  Here  we  stayed, 
and  seeing  that  we  could  not  have  anything  to  eat  but 
very  dear,  and  with  long  stay,  we  went  forth  again  without 
any  notice  taken  of  us,  and  so  we  might  have  done  if  we 
had  had  anything.  Thence  to  the  New  one,  where  I  never 
was  before,  which  much  exceeds  the  other ;  and  here  we 
also  walked,  and  the  boy  crept  through  the  hedge,  and 
gathered  abundance  of  roses,  and  after  a  long  walk,  passed 
out  of  doors  as  we  did  in  the  other  place,  and  so  to  another 
house  that  was  an  ordinary  house,  and  here  we  had  cakes 
and  powdered  beef  and  ale,  and  so  home  again  by  water, 
with  much  pleasure." 

On  the  28th  of  May,  1667,  Pepya  writes  :— 

"  By  water  to  Fox-hall,  and  then  walked  in  the  Spring 
Gardens.     A  great  deal  of  company,  and  the  weather  and 


^ 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


67 


garden  pleasant ;  and  it  is  very  cheap  going  thither,  for  a 
man  may  spend  what  he  will,  or  nothing  at  all,  all  as 
one.  But  to  hear  the  nightingale  and  the  birds,  and  here 
fiddles  and  there  a  banjo,  and  here  a  Jew's  trump  and 
there  laughing,  and  there  fine  people  walking,  is  mighty 
divertising.^' 

Spring  Garden  derived  its  name  from  an  ingenious  bit 
of  mechanism,  which,  on  being  touched  by  the  foot,  sent 
a  shower  of  water  over  the  bystanders.  It  was  a  favourite 
resort  of  the  Londoners  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  but 
during  the  Commonwealth  the  preference  seems  to  have 
been  given  to  the  Mulberry  Garden,  on  the  site  of  the 
present  Buckingham  Palace.  At  the  Eestoration  a  strip 
of  land,  on  the  Lambeth  bank  of  the  Thames,  was  laid 
out  as  a  public  garden,  and  soon  acquired  a  reputation 
which  it  retained  down  to  our  own  time.  From  a  manor 
called  Fulke's  Hall,  which  had  belonged  to  Fulke  de 
Breaute,King  John's  minister,  came  the  name  of  Fox-hall, 
afterwards  modified  into  Vauxhall. 

''  September  7th.— Meeting  Mr.  Pierce,  the  chirurgeon, 
he  took  me  into  Somerset  House  ;  and  then  carried  me 
into  the  Queen-Mother's  presence-chamber,  where  she  was, 
with  our  Queen  sitting  on  her  left  hand,  whom  I  never 
did  see  before ;  and  though  she  be  not  very  charming,  yet 
she  hath  a  good,  modest,  and  innocent  look,  which  is  pleas- 
ing. Here  I  also  saw  Madame  Castlemaine,  and,  which 
pleased  me  most,  Mr.  Crofts  [afterwards  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth], the  King's  bastard,  a  most  pretty  spark  of  about 
fifteen  years  old,  who,  I  perceive,  do  hang  much  upon  my 
Lady  Castlemaine,  and  is  always  with  her ;  and,  I  hear, 
the  Queens  both  are  mighty  kind  to  him.    By  and  by  in 


68 


THE  MEEET  MONARCH; 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDEE  CHARLES  II. 


69 


li 


comes  in  the  King,  and  anon  the  Duke  and  his  Duchess  ; 
so  that,  they  being  altogether,  was  such  a  sight  as  I  never 
could  almost  have  happened  to  see  with  so  much  ease  and 
leisure.  They  staid  till  it  was  dusk,  and  then  went  away ; 
the  King  and  his  Queen,  and  my  Lady  Castlemaine,  and 
young  Crofts  in  one  coach,  and  the  rest  in  other  coaches. 
Here  were  great  store  of  great  ladies,  but  very  few  hand- 
some. The  King  and  Queen  were  very  merry;  and  he 
would  have  made  the  Queen-Mother  believe  that  his  Queen 
was  with  child,  and  said  that  she  said  so.  And  the  young 
Queen  answered,  '  You  lie,'  which  was  the  first  English 
word  that  I  ever  heard  her  say:  which  made  the  King 
good  sport;  and  he  would  have  made  her  say  in  English, 
^Confess  and  be  hanged/  '' 

"  December  26th. — Hither  came  Mr.  Battersby ;  and  we 
falling  into  discourse  of  a  new  book  of  drollery  in  use, 
called  Hudihras,  I  would  needs  go  find  it  out,  and  met 
with  it  at  the  Temple  :  cost  me  2s.  6d.  But  when  I  came 
to  read  it,  it  is  so  silly  an  abuse  of  the  Presbiter  knight 
going  to  the  wars,  that  I  am  ashamed  of  it;  and,  by  and 
by,  meeting  at  Mr.  Townsend's  at  dinner,  I  sold  it  to  him 
for  18d." 

[Mr.  Pepys  afterwards  bought  another  copy,  "  it  being 
certainly  some  ill-humour  to  be  so  against  that  which  all 
the  world  cries  up  to  be  the  example  of  wit ;  "  and  resolved 
to  read  it  again,  and  see  whether  he  could  find  the  wit  or 
no.     But  in  this  he  did  not  succeed.] 

"April  4th.-This  being  my  feast-rery  merry  at, 
before,  and  after  dinner,  and  the  course  for  that  very 
dinner  was  great,  and  most  neatly  dressed  by  our  own 
only  maid.  We  had  a  fricassee  of  rabbits  and  chickens,  a 
leg  of  mutton  boiled,  three  carps  in  a  dish,  a  great  dish 


•of  a  side  of  lamb,  a  dish  of  roasted  pigeons,  a  dish  of  fine 
lobsters,  three  tarts,  a  lamprey  pie,  a  most  rare  pie,  a  dish 
of  anchovies,  good  wine  of  several  sorts,  and  all  things 
mighty  noble,  and  to  my  great  content." 

"November  3rd.— By  and  by  comes  Chapman,  the 
periwig-maker,  and  upon  my  liking  it,  without  more  ado 
I  went  up,  and  then  he  cut  off  my  hair,  which  went  a 
little  to  my  heart  at  present  to  part  with  it ;  but,  it  being 
over,  and  my  periwig  on,  I  paid  him  £3  for  it ;  and  away 
went  he,  with  my  own  hair,  to  make  up  another  of;  and 
I,  by  and  by." 

*^  November  28th.— To  St.  Paul's  Church  Yard,  and 
there  looked  upon  the  second  part  of  Hudibras,  which  I 
buy  not,  but  borrow  to  read,  to  see  if  it  be  as  good  as  the 
first,  which  the  world  cried  so  mightily  up,  though  it  hath 
not  a  good  liking  in  me,  though  I  had  tried  but  twice  or 
three  times  reading  to  bring  myself  to  think  it  witty. 
To-day,  for  certain,  I  am  told  how  in  Holland  publicly 
they  have  pictured  our  King  with  reproach :  one  way,  is 
with  his  pockets  turned  the  wrong  side  outward,  hanging 
out  empty ;  another,  with  two  courtiers,  picking  of  his 
pockets;  and  a  third,  leading  of  two  ladies,  while  others 
abuse  him ;  which  amounts  to  great  contempt." 

«  December  10th.— To  St.  Paul's  Church  Yard,  to  my 
bookseller's,  and,  having  gained  this  day  in  the  office  by 
my  stationer's  bill  to  the  King,  about  40s.  or  £3,  calling 
for  twenty  books  to  lay  this  money  out  upon,  and  found 
myself  at  a  great  loss  where  to  choose,  and  do  see  how  my 
nature  would  gladly  return  to  the  laying  out  of  money  in 
this  trade.  Could  not  tell  whether  to  lay  out  my  money 
for  books  of  pleasure,  as  plays,  which  my  nature  was  most 
earnest  in ;  but  at  last,  after  seeing  Chaucer,  Dugdale's 


70 


,g:HE  MEKRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


71 


History  of  Paul's,  Stow's  London,  Gesner,  History  of 
Trent,  besides  Shakespeare,  Jonson,  and  Beaumont's 
plays,  I '  at  last  chose  Dr.  Fuller's  Worthies,  the  Cabbala, 
or  a  Collection  of  Letters  of  State,  and  a  little  book, 
'  Delices  de  Hollande,'  with  another  little  book  or  two, 
cj;ll  of  good  use  or  serious  pleasure ;  and  Hudibras,  both 
parts,  the  book  now  in  greatest  fashion  for  drollery, 
though  I  cannot,  I  confess,  see  enough  where  the  wit 
lies.  My  mind  being  thus  settled,  I  went  by  link  home 
and  so  to  my  office,  and  to  read  in  Rushworth ;  and  so 
home  to  supper  and  to  bed." 
Another  side-light  into  the   social   condition  of    the 

Court : — 

"January  20th,  1664.— Mr.  Pierce  tells  me,  that  my 
Lady  Castlemaine  is  not  at  all  set  by,  by  the  King,  but 
that  he  do  doat  upon  Mrs.  Stewart  only,  and,  that,  to  the 
leaving  of  all  business  in  the  world,  and   to  the  open 
slighting  of  the  Queen  ;  that  he  values  not  who  sees  him, 
or  stands  by  him  while  he  dallies  with  her  openly :  and 
then  privately  in  her  chamber   below,  where  the  very 
sentries   observe   him   going   in   and  out;   and  that  so 
commonly,  that  the  Duke,  or  any  of  the  nobles,  when 
they  would  ask  where  the  King  is,  they  would  ordinarily 
say,  ^  Is  the  king  above  or  below  ? '  meaning  with  Mrs. 
Stewart;  that  the  King  do  not  openly  disown  my  Lady 
Castlemaine,  but  that  she  comes  to  Court.  .  .  .  That  the 
Duke  of  Monmouth  the  King  do  still  doat  on  beyond 
measure,  insomuch  that  the  King  only,  the  Duke  of  York, 
and  Prince  Rupert,  and  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  do  now 
wear  deep  mourning,  that  is,  by  cloaks,  for  the  Duchess 
of  Savoy:  so  that  he  mourns  as  a  Prince  of  the  Blood, 
while  the  Duke  of  York  do  no  more,  and  all  the  nobles  of 


the  land  not  so  much ;  which  gives  great  offence.  But 
that  the  Duke  of  York  do  give  himself  up  to  business,  and 
is  like  to  prove  a  noble  prince ;  and  so  indeed  I  do  from 
my  heart  think  he  will.  He  says  that  it  is  believed,  as 
well  as  hoped,  that  care  is  taken  to  lay  up  a  hidden 
treasure  of  money  by  the  King  against  a  bad  day.  I  pray 
God  it  be  so  !  but  I  should  be  more  glad  that  the  King 
himself  would  look  after  business,  which  it  seems  he  do 
not  in  the  least." 

"  February  3rd. — In  Covent  Garden  to-night,  going  to 
fetch  home  my  wife,  I  stopped  at  the  great  coffee-house 
there,  where  I  never  was  before  :  where  Dryden,  the  poet, 
I  knew  at  Cambridge,  and  all  the  wits  of  the  town,  and 
Harris  the  player,  and  Mr.  Hook  of  our  College.  And 
had  I  had  time  then,  or  could  at  other  times,  it  will  be 
good  coming  thither,  for  there,  1  perceive,  is  very  witty 
and  pleasant  discourse." 

This  coffee-house  was  Will's,  so  called  from  William 
Urwin,  the  landlord,  and  was  situated  at  the  comer  of 
Eussell  Street  and  Bow  Street.  There  a  chair  was  re- 
served for  Dryden,  near  the  fireplace  in  winter,  and  in 
the  balcony  in  summer.  The  first  coffee-house  in  London, 
Pasque  Rosee's,  had  been  opened  only  seven  years  before ; 
but  the  new  beverage  had  grown  rapidly  into  popularity, 
and  the  coffee-house  itself  was  at  once  recognised  as  a 
pleasant  rendezvous  by  the  wits,  scholars,  and  other 
gregarious  classes  of  the  day.  They  afforded,  more- 
over, an  indirect  channel  for  the  expression  of  public 
opinion. 

"March  27th.  (Lord's  day). — It  being  church  time, 
walked  to  St.  James's,  to  try  if  I  could  see  the  belle 
Butler,  but  could  not ;  only  saw  her  sister,  who  indeed  is 


72 


THE    MEEBT   MONARCH; 


pretty,  with  a  fine  Roman  nose.  Thence  walked  through 
the  ducking-pond  fields  ;  but  they  are  so  altered  since  my 
father  used  to  carry  us  to  Islington,  to  the  old  man's,  at 
the  King's  Head,  to  eat  cakes  and  ale,  that  I  did  not 
know  which  was  the  ducking-pond,  nor  where  I  was. 
[The  site  of  the  ducking-pond,  where  the  Londoners 
assembled  to  see  the  ducks  hunted  by  dogs,  is  now  oc- 
cupied by  the  Back  Eoad.]  So  home ;  and  in  Cheapside, 
both  coming  and  going,  it  was  full  of  apprentices,  who 
have  been  here  all  this  day,  and  have  done  violence,  I 
think,  to  the  master  of  the  boys  that  were  put  in  the 
pillory  yesterday.  But,  Lord!  to  see  how  the  trained 
bands  are  raised  upon  this:  the  drums  beating  every- 
where as  if  an  enemy  were  upon  them :  so  much  is  this 
city  subject  to  be  put  into  a  disarray  upon  very  small 
occasions.  But  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  boys,  and 
particularly  one  little  one,  that  I  demanded  the  business 
of.  He  told  me  that,  that  had  never  been  done  in  the 
city  since  it  was  a  city — two  'prentices  put  in  the  pillory ! 
and  that  it  ought  not  to  be  so." 

"July  11th.— Betimes  up  this  morning,  and,  getting 
ready,  we  by  coach  to  Holborne,  when,  at  nine  o'clock, 
they  set  out,  and  I  and  my  man  Will  on  horseback  by  my 
wife  to  Barnet ;  a  very  pleasant  day ;  and  there  dined  with 
her  company,  which  was  very  good— a  pretty  gentlewoman 
with  her,  that  goes  but  to  Huntingdon,  and  a  neighbour 
to  us  in  town.  Here  we  stayed  two  hours,  and  then 
parted  for  all  together,  and  my  poor  wife  I  shall  soon 
want,  I  am  sure.  Thence  I  and  Will  to  see  the  Wells, 
half  a  mile  off,  and  there  I  drink  three  glasses,  and 
walked,  and  come  back  and  drunk  two  more :  and  so  we 
rode  home,  round  by  Kingsland,  Hackney,  and  Mile  End, 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


73 


till  we  were  quite  weary;  and,  not  being  very  well,  I 
betimes  to  bed.** 

The  qualities  of  the  Barnet  Wells  were  discovered  in 
1652,  and  rose  into  repute  with  such  rapidity  that  "Fuller, 
only  ten  years  afterwards,  speaks  of  "  the  catalogue  of 
the  cures  done  by  them  as  amounting  to  a  great  number : 
insomuch,^'  he  adds,  "that  there  is  hope,  in  process  of 
time,  the  water  rising  here  will  repair  the  blood  shed  hard 
by,  and  save  as  many  lives  as  were  lost  in  the  fatal  battle 
at  Barnet."  Pepys  went  thither  a  second  time  on  the 
11th  of  August,  1667.  He  arrived  by  seven  o'clock,  and 
found  many  people  a  drinking ;  but  as  it  was  a  cold  morn- 
ing, he  contented  himself  with  drinking  three  glasses,  and 
then,  returning  to  his  inn  (the  Eed  Lion),  "did  eat  some 
of  the  best  cheese  cakes  that  ever  I  eat  in  my  life." 

The  well  is  still  at  the  disposal  of  the  public ;  it  is  a  chaly- 
beate water,  and  described  as  "  an  excellent  safe  purger." 

"July  26th. — Great  discourse  of  the  fray  yesterday  in 
Moorfields,  how  the  butchers  at  first  did  beat  the  weavers, 
between  whom  there  hath  been  ever  an  old  competition  for 
mastery,  but  at  last  the  weavers  rallied  and  beat  them. 
At  first,  the  butchers  knocked  down  all  the  weavers  that 
had  green  or  blue  aprons,  till  they  were  fain  to  pull  them 
off  and  put  them  in  their  breeches.  At  last  the  butchers 
were  fain  to  pull  off  their  sleeves,  that  they  might  not  be 
known,  and  were  soundly  beaten  out  of  the  field,  and  some 
deeply  wounded  and  bruised  ;  till  at  last  the  weavers  went 
out  triumphing,  calling  £100  for  a  butcher." 

"  August  10th. — Abroad  to  find  out  one  to  engrave  my 
tables  upon  my  new  sliding  rule  with  silver  plates,  it  being 
:S0  small,  that  Browne,  that  made  it,  cannot  get  one  to  do 
it.     So  I  got  Cocker,  the  famous  writing-master,  to  do  it. 


74 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


and  I  set  an  hour  by  him  to  see  him  design  it  all ;  and 
strange  it  is  to  see  him,  with  his  natural  eyes,  to  cut  so 
small  at  his  first  designing  it,  and  read  it  all  over,  without 
any  missing,  when  for  my  life  I  could  not,  with  my  best 
skill,  read  one  word  or  letter  of  it ;  but  it  is  use.  He  says, 
that  the  best  light  for  his  life  to  do  a  very  small  thing  by, 
contrary  to  Chaucer's  words  to  the  sun,"*^  ^  that  he  should 
lend  his  light  to  them  that  small  seals  grave,'  it  should  be 
hj  an  artificial  light  of  a  candle,  set  to  advantage,  as  he 
could  do  it.  I  find  the  fellow,  by  his  discourse,  very  in- 
genious :  and,  among  other  things,  a  great  admirer  of,  and 
well  read  in,  the  English  poets,  and  undertakes  to  judge  of 
them  all,  and  that  not  impertinently." 

It  would  be  unpardonable  to  omit  from  our  record  of 
the  celebrities  of  Charles  II. 's.  reign  a  name  which  has  be- 
come proverbial,  "  according  to  Cocker."  Edward  Cocker, 
though  known  to  posterity  as  the  author  of  the  once  cele- 
brated book  of  *'  Aiithmetick,  being  a  Plain  and  Familiar 
Method  suitable  to  the  meanest  capacity,  for  understand- 
ing that  admirable  Art,"  was  held  in  repute  in  his  own 
time  chiefly  as  a  caligraphist,  a  writer  and  engraver  of 
"letters,  knots,  and  flourishes."  He  was  born  in  1631, 
and  died  in  1677.  His  "Arithmetic"  was  a  posthumous 
work  (licensed  on  the  2nd  of  September,  1677),  edited 
from  the  original  manuscript  by  a  Mr.  John  Hawkins. 
A  portrait  of  the  author  is  prefixed  to  it,  and  under  the 
portrait  are  inscribed  the  following  lines  : — 

"  Ingenious  Cocker,  now  to  rest  thou'rt  gone, 
No  art  can  show  thee  fully,  but  thine  own  ; 
Thy  rare  Arithmetic  alone  can  show 
Th'  vast  sum  of  thanks  we  for  thy  labours  owe." 

*  In  Troilus  and  Cressida,  bk.  iii.,  lines  1466,  1467 : — 

**  What  profE'rst  thou  thy  light  here  for  to  sell  ? 
Go  sell  it  them  that  snaall  seals  grave." 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  IL. 


75 


The  completeness  and  lucidity  of  Cocker's  treatise  se- 
cured it  so  lasting  a  popularity  that  it  ran  through  fifty 
editions  in  less  than  seventy  years. 

Here  is  a  brief  but  curious  reference  to  William  Penn, 
the  Quaker-founder  of  Pennsylvania  :— 

"August  26th.— Mr.  Penn,  Sir  William^s  son,  is  come 
back  from  Prance,  and  come  to  visit  my  wife ;  a  most 
modest  person,  grown,  she  says,  a  fine  gentleman." 

William  Penn,  at  this  time,  was  just  upon  twenty  years 
old.  He  had  already  showed  signs  of  an  attachment  to 
Quakerism,  which  his  father  had  endeavoured  to  combat, 
and  he  was  finally  converted  to  it  in  1666.  At  least  he  ac- 
cepted its  principles,  but  not  its  practices ;  for  he  was  fond 
of  good  horses,  handsome  furniture,  and  bravery  of  dress. 
The  Crown  owing  his  father  a  sum  of  £16,000,  Penn,  at  his 
father's  death,  compounded  the  debt  for  a  tract  of  countiy 
in  North  America,  nearly  300  miles  long  and  160  miles 
wide,  which  soon  grew  into  a  prosperous  colony  under 
the  name  of  Pennsylvania.  He  provided  it  with  a  Con- 
stitution of  a  genuinely  democratic  character,  and  or- 
ganised its  government  on  the  basis  of  toleration,  respect 
for  the  fights  of  all,  and  justice  towards  the  Indians.  He 
lived  to  see  the  good  fruits  of  his  sagacious  policy,  and 
was  seventy-four  years  old  when  he  died  (July  30th, 
1718). 

Mr.  Pepys  confesses  his  weakness  for  a  pretty  woman: 

"  September  6th.— Called  upon  Doll,  our  pretty  'Change 
woman,  for  a  pair  of  gloves  trimmed  with  yellow  ribbon, 
to  [match]  the  petticoat  my  wife  bought  yesterday,  which 
cost  me  20s. ;  but  she  is  so  pretty  that,  God  forgive  me ! 
I  could  not  think  it  too  much,  which  is  a  strange  slavery 
that  I  stand  in  to  beauty,  that  I  value  nothing  near  it." 


76 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


11 


He  notes,  on  the  2nd  of  October  following  that  his  wife 
was  angry  with  him  for  not  coming  home,  and  for  gadding 
abroad  to  look  after  beauties. 

^' January  9th,  1665.— Walked  to  White  Hall.  I  saw 
the  Eoyal  Society  bring  their  new  book,  wherein  is  nobly 
writ  their  charter  and  laws,  and  comes  to  be  signed  by  the 
Duke  as  a  Fellow ;  and  all  the  Fellows  are  to  be  entered 
there,  and  lie  as  a  monument ;  and  the  King  hath  put  his 
with  the  word  Founder." 

This  book  is  still  extant,  and  contains  the  autograph 
of  every  Fellow  down  to  the  present  time. 

The  Eoyal  Society  grew  out  of  that  vision  of  an  ideal 
institution  which  Lord  Bacon  conceived  in  his  ''New 
Atlantis."  The  first  who  attempted  to  realize  it  were 
Evelyn,  Bishop  Sprat,  Aubrey,  Dr.  Wilkins,  and  others, 
who  met  for  the  purposes  of  scientific  inquiry  and  dis- 
cussion in  "the  parlour"  of  Gresham  College.  To  this 
philosophical  conference  Evelyn  gave  the  felicitous  desig- 
nation of  "  The  Eoyal  Society."*  A  charter  was  granted 
to  them  ;  the  King  declared  himself  their  founder ;  and 
Lord  Brounker  acted  as  their  first  President. 

"January  20  th. — ^Tomybookseller's,  and  then  took  home 
Hook'st  book  of  Microscopy,  a  most  excellent  piece,  and 
of  which  I  am  very  proud.  Homeward,  in  my  way  buying 
a  hare,  and  taking  it  home,  which  arose  upon  my  dis- 
course to-day  with  Mr.  Batten,  in  Westminster  Hall,  who 
showed  me  my  mistake  that  my  hare's  foot  hath  not  the 

*  Drjden,  in  Ma  Anrms  MirdbilU  apostrophizes  it  as— 

**  O  truly  royal !  who  behold  the  law 

And  rule  of  beings  in  your  Maker's  mind : 
And  thence,  like  limbers,  rich  ideas  draw, 
To  fit  the  levelled  use  of  human  kind.** 

t  Dr.  Robert  Hooke,  Rector  of  Freshwater,  born  1635,  died  1702.     Was 
the  author  of  **  Micrographia  "  and  other  scientific  works. 


joint  to  it ;  and  assures  me  he  never  had  his  cholic  since 
he  carried  it  about  him :  and  it  is  a  strange  thing  how 
fancy  works,  for  I  no  sooner  handled  his  [hare's]  foot, 
but  I  became  very  well,  and  so  continue." 

[On  the  26th  of  March  Pepys  notes  that  though  the  pre- 
ceding winter  had  been  exceptionally  severe,  yet  had  he 
never  been  better  in  all  his  life,  "  nor  had  not,  these  ten 
years,  gone  colder  in  the  summer  than  he  had  done  all 
this  winter,  wearing  only  a  doublet,  and  a  waistcoat  cut 
open  on  the  back ;  abroad,  a  cloak,  and  within  doors  a 
coat  he  slipped  on."  He  adds  :  "  Now  I  am  at  a  loss  to 
know  whether  it  be  my  hare's  foot  which  is  my  preserva- 
tion ;  for  I  never  had  a  fit  of  the  colic  since  I  wore  it,  or 
whether  it  be  my  taking  a  pill  of  terpentine  every  morn- 
ing."] 

A  gleam  of  light  is  thrown  in  the  following  passage  on 
the  elementary  dabblings  to  which  inquiring  minds  were 
prone  in  ,those  infant  days  of  Science  : — 

"March  22nd.— To  Mr.  Houblon's,  the  merchant,  where 
Sir  William  Petty,  and  abundance  of  most  ingenious 
men,  owners  and  freighters  of  'The  Experiment,'  now 
going  with  the  two  bodies  [hulls]  to  sea.  Most  excellent 
discourse.  Sir  William  Petty  did  tell  me,  that  in  good 
earnest,  he  bath  in  his  will  left  some  parts  of  his  estate 
to  him  that  could  invent  such  and  such  things.  As 
among  others,  that  could  discover  truly  the  way  of  milk 
coming  into  the  breasts  of  a  woman  ;  and  he  that  could 
invent  proper  characters  to  express  to  another  the  mixture 
of  relishes  and  tastes.  And  says,  that  to  him  that  in- 
vents gold,  he  gives  nothing  for  the  philosopher's  stone ; 
for,  says  be,  they  that  find  out  that,  will  be  able  to  pay 


78 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


themselves.  But,  says  he,  by  this  means  it  is  better  than 
to  go  to  a  lecture ;  for  here  my  executors,  that  must  part 
with  this,  will  be  sure  to  be  well  convinced  of  the  inven- 
tion before  they  do  part  w  ith  their  money.  .  .  .  Thence 
to  Gresham  College,  and  there  did  see  a  kitling  killed 
almost  quite,  but  that  we  could  not  quite  kill  her,  with 
such  a  way :  the  air  out  of  a  receiver,  wherein  she  was 
put,  and  then  the  air  being  let  in  upon  her,  revives  her 
immediately— nay,  and  this  air  is  to  be  made  by  putting 
together  a  liquor  and  some  body  that  ferments — the  steam 
of  that  do  do  the  work." 

Another  illustration  of  social  manners : — 

"April  12th.— Going  to  my  Lady  Batten's,  there 
found  a  great  many  women  with  her,  in  her  chamber 
merry— my  Lady  Penn  and  her  daughter,  among  others, 
where  my  Lady  Penn  flung  me  down  upon  the  bed,  and 
herself  and  others,  one  after  another,  upon  me,  and  very 
merry  we  were.'' 

"  May  28th. — To  see  my  Lady  Penn,  where  my  wife  and 
I  were  shown  a  fine  rarity :  of  fishes  kept  in  a  glass  of 
water,  that  will  live  so  for  ever;  and  finely  marked  they 
are,  being  foreign."  [They  were  gold  fish,  brought  from 
China — the  species,  Cyfrinus  auratus,"] 

Of  the  first  appearance  of  the  dreaded  Plague  in  London 
we  find  the  following  graphic  record  : — 

^'  June  7th.— The  hottest  day  that  ever  I  felt  in  my 
life.  This  day,  much  against  my  will,  I  did  in  Drury 
Lane  see  two  or  three  houses  marked  with  a  red  cross 
upon  the  doors,  and  '  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us ! '  writ 
there  ;  which  was  a  sad  sight  to  me,  being  the  first  of  the 
kind  that,  to  my  remembrance,  I  ever  saw.    It  put  me 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


79 


into  an  ill  conception  of  myself  and  my  smell,  so  that  I 
was  forced  to  buy  some  roll-tobacco  to  smell  to  and  chew, 
which  took  away  the  apprehension." 

The  patriotism  which  elevated  the  character  of  Pepys, 
and  more  than  counterbalanced  his  vanity  and  love  of 
money,  glows  in  the  following  brief  but  telling  account  of 
the  great  but  fruitless  victory  over  the  Dutch  on  the  3rd 
of  June,  1665  : — 

"  This  day  they  engaged:  the  Dutch  neglecting  greatly 

the   opportunity  of  the  wind  they  had  of  us ;   by  which 

they  lost  the   benefit   of  their   fireships.     The   Earl  of 

Falmouth,^  Muskerry,  and  Mr.  Eichard  Boyle  killed  on 

board  the  Duke's  ship,  the  Eoyal  Charles,  with  one  shot : 

their  blood  and  brains  flying  in  the  Duke's  face  ;   and  the 

head  of  Mr.  Boyle  striking  down  the  Duke,  as  some  say. 

Earl  of  Marlborough,  Portland,  Eear  Admiral  Sansum,to 

Prince   Eupert,  killed,  and  Captains  Kir  by  and  Allison. 

Sir  John  Lawson  wounded  on  the  knee :  t  hath  had  some 

bones  taken  out,  and  is  likely  to  be  well  again.     Upon 

receiving  the  hurt,  he  sent  to  the  Duke  for  another  to 

command  the  Eoyal  Oak.      The  Duke  sent  Jordan  out  of 

the  St.  George,  who  did  brave  things  to  her.     Captain 

Jeremiah  Smith,  of  the  Mary,  was  second  to  the  Duke, 

*  Sir  John  Denham,  in  his  savagely  satirical  "Advice  to  a  Painter' 
says: —  x^ulci, 

"  His  shattered  head  the  feariess  Duke  distains, 
And  gave  the  last  first  proof  that  he  had  brains." 

t  When  the  flag-ship  of  the  Dutch  Admiral  Opdam  blew  up,  a  shot  from 
It  liiortally  wounded  Sir  John  Lawson  :— 

"  Destiny  allowed 
Him  his  revenge,  to  make  his  death  more  proud. 
A  fatal  bullet  from  his  side  did  range, 
And  battered  Lawson ;   oh,  too  dear  exchange  f 
He  led  our  fleet  that  day  too  short  a  space, 
But  lost  his  knee  :   since  died,  in  glorious  race : 
Lawson,  whose  valour  beyond  Fate  did  go, 
And  Btill  fights  Opdam  in  the  lake  below." 


80 


THE   MERRT   MONARCH; 


and  stepped  between  him   and  Captain  Seaton,  of  tlie 
Urania,  76  guns  and  400  men,  who  had  sworn  to  board  the 
Duke,  killed  him  200  men,  and  took  the  ship ;   himself 
losing  99  men,  and  never  an  officer  saved,  but  himself  and 
lieutenant.     His  master  indeed  is  saved,  with  his  leg  cut 
off.     Admiral  Opdam  blown  up,  Tromp  killed,  and  [it  is] 
said,  by  Holmes    [Sir   Eobert]  ;     all  the  rest  of   their 
Admirals,  as  they  say,  Mr.  Everson,  whom  they  dare  not 
trust  for  his  affection  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  are  killed: 
we  have  taken  and  sunk,  as  is  believed,  about  twenty- 
four  of  their  best  ships ;   killed  and  taken  near  8,000  or 
10,000  men,  and  lost,  we  think,  not  above  700.     A  greater 
victory  never  known  in  the  world.      They  are  all  fled; 
some  43  got  into  the  Texel,  and  others  elsewhere,  and  we 
in  pursuit  of  the  rest.     Thence,  with  my  heart  full  of  joy, 
home ;  then  to  my  Lady  Penn's,  where  they  are  all  joyed, 
and  not  a  little  puffed  up  at  the  good  success  of  their 
father ;  and  good  service  indeed  is  said  to  have  been  done 
by  him.     Had  a  great  bonfire  at  the  gate ;  and  I,  with 
my  Lady  Penn's  people,   and  others,  to  Mrs.   Turner's 
great  room,  and  then  down  into  the  street.     I  did  give  the 
boys  4s.  aniODg  them,  and  mighty  merry :  so  home  to  bed, 
with  my  heart  at  great  rest  and  quiet,  saving  that  the  con- 
sideration of  the  victory  is  too  great  for  me  presently  to 
comprehend.'* 

It  was  a  great  victory,  and  might  have  been  made  a 
complete  one.  When  the  Dutch  fled  from  off  Lowestoft 
to  their  own  shore,  the  English  fleet  pursued;  but, 
during  the  night,  the  Roijal  Charles,  the  Duke  of  York's 
lag-ship,  slackened  sail  and  brought-to.  In  a  Council  of 
War,  Admiral  Sir  William  Penn  bade  his  colleagues  pre- 
pare for  hotter  work  in  the  next  engagement,  knowing 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


81 


that  the  courage  of  the  Dutch  always  reached  its  highest 
point  when  their  fortunes  were  most  desperate.  The 
courtiers  protested  that  the  Duke  had  won  honour  enough, 
and  why  should  he  venture  himself  a  second  time.  His 
Eoyal  Highness  retired  to  his  cabin ;  and  in  the  night 
Brounker,  one  of  his  servants,  delivered  an  order  to  the 
master,  apparently  in  the  Duke's  handwriting,  to  slacken 
sail.  To  the  intense  mortification  of  the  seamen,  the 
pursuit  was  then  abandoned,  and  the  Dutch  fleet  spared 
to  fight  again.  It  was  afterwards  alleged  that  Brouncker 
forged  the  order ;  if  so,  he  never  received  the  punishment 
his  treachery  or  cowardice  deserved. 

"  July  26th.— Down  to  Woolwich,  and  there  I  first  saw 
and  kissed  my  wife,  and  saw  some  of  her  painting,  which 
is  very  curious ;  and  away  again  to  the  King,  and  back 
again  with  him  in  the  barge,  hearing  him  and  the  Duke 
talk,  and  seeing  and  observing  their  manner  of  discourse. 
And,  God  forgive  me  !  though  I  admire  them  with  aU  the 
duty  possible,  yet  the  more  a  man  considers  and  observes 
them,  the  less  he  finds  of  difference  between  them  and 
other  men,  though,  blessed  be  God !  they  are  both  princes 
of  great  nobleness  and  spirit.'' 

Mr.  Pepys  attends  the  marriage  of  Lord  Sandwich's 
daughter  with  young  Carteret,  the  son  of  Sir  George  Car- 
teret. 

"July  31sfc.— When  we  come,  though  we  drove  hard 
with  six  horses,  yet  we  found  them  gone  from  home ;  and, 
going  towards  the  church,  met  them  coming  from  church, 
which  troubled  us.  But,  however,  that  trouble  was  soon 
over ;  hearing  it  was  well  done  :  they  being  both  in  their 
old  clothes ;  my  Lord  Crewe  giving  her,  there  being  three 
coachfulls  of  them.      The  young  lady,  mighty  sad,  which 


VOL.    I. 


a 


82 


THE    MERET   MONARCH  ; 


troubled  me  ;  but  yet  I  think  it  Wcas  only  lier  gravity  in  a 
little  greater  degree  than  usual.  All  saluted  her,  but  I 
did  not,  till  my  Lady  Sandwich  did  ask  me  whether  I 
saluted  her  or  no.  So  to  dinner,  and  very  merry  we  were ; 
but  in  such  a  sober  way  as  never  almost  anything  was  in 
so  ffreat  families  :  but  it  was  much  better.  After  dinner, 
company  divided,  some  to  cards,  others  to  talk.  My  Lady 
Sandwich  and  I  up  to  settle  accounts,  and  pay  her  some 
money.  ...  At  night  to  supper,  and  so  to  talk;  and 
which,  methought,  was  the  most  extraordinary  thing,  all 
of  us  to  prayers  as  usual,  and  the  young  bride  and  bride- 
groom too  :  and  so,  after  prayers,  soberly  to  bed ;  only  I 
got  into  the  bridegroom's  chamber  while  he  undressed 
himself,  and  there  was  very  merry,  till  he  was  called  to 
the  bride's  chamber,  and  into  bed  they  went.  But  the 
modesty  and  gravity  of  this  business  was  so  decent,  that 
it  was  to  me  indeed  ten  times  more  delightful  than  if  it 
had  been  twenty  times  more  merry  and  jovial" 

"  December  6th.— I  spent  the  afternoon  upon  a  song  of 
Solyman's  words  to  Eoxalana  [in  D'Avenant's  Siege  of 
Rhodes]  that  I  have  set,  and  so  with  my  wife  and  Mercer 
[her  maid]  walked  to  Mrs.  Pierce's,  where  Captain  Eolt 
and  Mrs.  Knipp,  Mr.  Coleman  and  his  wife,  and  Laneari, 
Mrs.  Worshipp  and  her  singing  daughter,  met ;  and,  by 
and  by,  unexpectedly  comes  Mr.  Pierce  from  Oxford.  Here 
the  best  company  for  music  I  ever  was  in,  in  my  life,  and 
wish  I  could  live  and  die  in  it,  both  for  music  and  the  face 
of  Mrs.  Pierce,  and  my  wife,  and  Knipp,  who  is  pretty 
enough;  but  the  most  excellent,  mad-humoured  thing,  and 
sings  the  noblest  that  ever  I  heard  in  my  life,  and  Eolt 
with  her,  some  things  together,  most  excellently.  I  spent 
the  night  in  an  ecstasy  almost." 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDEE  CHARLES  II. 


83 


"  1C6C,    January   6th.— To  a  great  dinner   and   much 
company.     Mr.  Cuttle  and  his  lady  and  I  went,  hoping  to 
get  Mrs.  Knipp  to  us,  having  wrote  a  letter  to  her  in  the 
morning,  calHng  myself   '  Dapper  Dicky,^   in  answer  to 
hers  of  '  Barbary  Allen,'  but  could  not,  and  am  told  by 
the  boy  that  carried  my  letter,  that  he  found  her  crying; 
and  I  fear  she  lives  a  sad  life  with  that  ill-natured  fellow 
her  husband  :    so  we  had  a  great,  but  I   a  melancholy 
dinner.      After  dinner  to  cards,  and  then  comes  notice 
that  my  wife  is  come  unexpectedly  to  me  to  town :  so  I  to 
her.     It  is  only  to  see  what  I  do,  and  why  I  come  not 
home;  and  she  is  in  the  right  ^Aa^  I  would  have  a  little  more 
of  Mrs.  Kni])p's  company  before  I  go  away.     My  wife  to 
fetch  away  my  things  from  Woolwich,  and  I  back  to 
cards,  and  after  cards  to  choose  King  and  Queen,  and  a 
good  cake  there  was,  but  no  marks  found  ;  but  I  privately 
found  the  clove,  the  mark  of  the  Knave,  and  privately  put 
it  into  Captain  Cocke's  piece,  which  made  some  mirth, 
because  of  his  lately  being  known  by  his  buying  of  clove 
and  mace  of  the  East  Lidia  prizes.     At  night  home  to  my 
lodging,  where  I  find  my  wife  returned  with  my  things. 
It  being  Twelfth  Night,  they  had  got  the  fiddler,  and 
mighty  merry  they  were  ;  and  I  above,  come  not  to  them, 
leaving  them  dancing,  and  choosing  King  and  Queen." 

In  the  Twelfth  Night  cake  a  bean  was  inserted  for  the 
King,  a  pea  for  the  Queen,  a  clove  for  the  Knave,  and  so 
on. 

Here  are  two  or  three  passages  in  illustration  of  the 
well-known  weakness  of  Mr.  Pepys  for  a  pretty  face  :— 

"January  15th.— This  afternoon,  after  sermon,  comes 
my  dear  fair  beauty  of  the  Exchange,  Mrs.  Batelier, 
brought  by  her  sister,  an  acquaintance  of  Mercer's,  to 


84 


THE   MEREY   MONARCH ; 


see  mj  wife.  I  saluted  her  with  as  much  pleasure  as  I 
had  done  any  a  great  while.  We  sat  and  talked  together 
an  hour,  with  infinite  pleasure  to  me,  and  so  the  fair 
creature  went  away,  and  proves  one  of  the  modestest 
women  and  pretty,  that  ever  I  saw  in  my  life,  and  my 
wife  judges  her  so  too." 

"  January  15th. — To  Mrs.  Pierce,  to  her  new  house  in 
Covent  Garden,  a  very  fine  place  and  fine  house.  Took 
her  thence  home  to  my  house,  and  so  by  water  to  Bore- 
man^s  by  night,  where  the  greatest  disappointment  that 
ever  I  saw  in  my  life — much  company,  a  good  supper  pro- 
vided, and  all  come  with  expectation  of  excess  of  mirth, 
but  all  blank  through  the  waywardness  of  Mrs.  Knipp, 
who,  though  she  had  appointed  the  night,  could  not  be 
got  to  come.  Not  so  much  as  her  husband  could  get  her 
to  come  ;  but,  which  was  a  pleasant  thing  in  all  my  anger, 
I  asking  him,  while  we  were  in  expectation  what  answer 
one  of  our  many  messengers  would  bring,  what  he 
thought,  whether  she  would  come  or  no,  he  answered 
that,  for  his  part,  he  could  not  so  much  as  think.  At 
last,  very  late,  and  supper  done,  she  came  undressed,  but 
it  brought  me  no  mirth  at  all ;  only,  after  all  being  done, 
without  singing,  or  very  little,  and  no  dancing.  Pierce  and 
I  to  bed  together,  and  he  and  I  very  merry  to  find  how 
little  and  thin  clothes  they  give  us  to  cover  us,  so  that  we 
were  fain  to  lie  in  our  stockings  and  drawers,  and  lay  all 
our  coats  and  clothes  upon  the  bed." 

"January  18th.— To  Captain  Cocke's,  where  Mrs. 
Williams  was  and  Mrs.  Knipp.  I  was  not  heartily 
merry,  though  a  glass  of  wine  did  a  little  cheer  me. 
After  dinner  to  the  office.  Anon  comes  to  me  thither 
my  Lord  Brounker,  Mrs.  Williams,  and  Knipp.    I  brought 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


85 


down  my  wife  in  her  night-gown,  she  not  being  indeed 
Tery  well,  to  the  office  to  them.    My  wife  and  I  anon  and 
Mercer,  by  coach,  to  Pierce's,  where  mighty  merry,  and 
sing  and  dance  with  great  pleasure ;  and  1  danced,  who 
never  did  in  company  in  my  life." 
Here  is  a  note  of  the  Great  Storm  :— 
"January  24th.— My  Lord  and  I,  the  wind  being  again 
very  furious,  so  as  we  durst  not  go  by  water,  walked  to 
London  quite  round  the  bridge,  no  boat  being  able  to 
stir ;  and.  Lord  !  what  a  dirty  walk  we  had,  and  so  strong 
the  wind,  that  in  the  fields   we  many  times  could  not 
carry  our  bodies  against  it,  but  were  driven  backwards. 
We  went  through  Horsleydown.  ...  It  was  dangerous 
to  walk  the  streets,  the  bricks  and  tiles  falling  from  the 
houses,  that  the  whole  streets  were  covered  with  them  • 
and  whole  chimneys,  nay,  whole  houses,  in  two  or  three 
places.  Mowed  down.     But,  above  all,  the  pales  of  London 
Bridge,  on  both  sides,  were  blown  away,  so  that  we  were 
fain  to  stoop  very  low  for  fear  of   blowing  off  of  the 
bridge.     We  could  see  no  boats  in  the  Thames  afloat,  but 
what  were  broke  loose,  and  carried  through  the  bridge,  it 
being  ebbing  water.     And  the  greatest  sight  of  all  was, 
among  other  parcels  of  ships  driven  here  and  there  in 
clusters  together;  one  was  quite  overset,  and  lay  with 
her  masts  all  along  in  the  water,  and  keel  above  water." 
The  King  praises  Mr.  Pepys : — 

"  January  28th.— I  went  down  into  one  of  the  Courts 
[at  Hampton  Court] ,  and  there  met  the  King  and  Duke  : 
and  the  Duke  called  me  to  him.  And  the  King  come  to 
me  of  himself,  and  told  me,  '  Mr.  Pepys,'  says  he,  '  I  do 
give  you  thanks  for  your  good  service  all  this  year,  and  I 
.assure  you  I  am  very  sensible  of  it.'    And  the  Duke  of 


86 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


York  did  tell  me  with  pleasure,  that  he  had  read  over  my 
discourse  about  pursers,  and  would  have  ordered  it  in  my 
way,  and  so  fell  from  one  discourse  to  another.  I  walked 
with  ibmn  quite  out  of  the  Court  into  the  fields." 

Valentines  : — • 

"  February  14th,  1666.— This  morning  called  up  by  Mr. 
Hill,  who,  my  wife  thought,  had  come  to  be  her  Valentine 
—she,  it  seems,  having  drawn  him,  but  it  proved  not. 
However,  calling  him  up  to  our  bedside,  my  wife  chal- 
lenged him.  ...  By  and  by  conies  Mrs.  Pierce,  with  my 
name  in  her  bosom  for  her  Valentine,  which  will  cost  me 

money." 

To  this  custom  Pepys  has  several  allusions.    The  Valen- 
tines were  drawn  in  a  kind  of  lottery,  and  the  choosing 
party  invariably  expected  a  present  from  his  or  her  Valen- 
tine.     On  the  16th  of  February,  1667,  Pepys  writes :    "  I 
find  that  Mrs.  Pierce's  little  girl  is  my  Valentine,  she 
having  drawn  me  ;  which  I  was  not   sorry  for,  it  easing 
me  of  something  more  that  I  must  have  given  to  others. 
But  here  I  do  first  observe  the  fashion  of  drawing  mottoes 
as  well  as  names,  so  that  Pierce,  who  drew  my  wife,  did 
draw  also  a  motto,  and  this  girl  drew  another  for  me. 
What  mine  was,  I  forget ;  but  my  wife's  was  '  IMost  cour- 
teous and  most  fair,'  which,  as  it  may  be  used,  or  an 
anagram  upon  each  name,  might  be  very  pretty."    The 
presents  given  varied  in  value  according  to  the  rank  and 
means  of  the  giver,  and,  naturally,  also  according  to  the 
degree  of   estimation  in  which  the  Valentine  held  the 
person  by  whom  he  or  she  was  chosen.     For  example, 
Pepys  records  that  the  Duke  of  York,  when  chosen  by 
Mrs.  Frances  Stewart,  gave  her  a  jewel  worth  £800 ;  and, 
in  another  year,  Lord  MandeviUe  gave  her  a  ring  valued 


OR^  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


87 


at  £300.    Drayton,  in  his  lyrical  address  to  Ids  Valentine, 
ridicules  this  Valentine-lottery.     He  says  : — 

Let's  langli  at  them  tliat  choose 

Their  Valentines  by  lot ; 
To  wear  their  names  that  use, 

Whom  idly  they  have  got, 
Such  poor  choice  we  refuse, 

Saint  Valentine  befriend  : 

We  thus  this  morn  may  spend, 
Else,  Muse,  awake  her  not. 

Mr.  Pepys  entertains  good  company  : — 

"March  7th.— In  the  evening,  being  at  Sir  William 
Batten's,  I  find  my  Lord  Brounker  and  Mrs.  Williams, 
and  they  would  of  their  own  accord,  though  I  had  never 
obliged  them,  nor  my  wife  neither,  with  one  visit  for 
many  of  theirs,  go  see  my  house  and  my  wife ;  which  I 
showed  them  and  made  them  welcome  with  wine  and 
China  oranges,  now  a  great  rarity  since  the  war,  none 
to  be  had.  My  house  happened  to  be  mighty  clean,  and 
did  me  great  honour,  and  they  mightily  pleased  with  it." 

"  March  19th.— After  dinner,  we  walked  to  the  King's 
playhouse,  all  in  dirt,  they  being  altering  of  the  stage  to 
make  it  wider.  But  God  knows  when  they  will  begin  to 
act  again ;  but  my  business  here  was  to  see  the  inside  of 
the  stage  and  all  the  tiring-rooms  and  machines;  and, 
indeed,  it  was  a  sight  worthy  seeing.  But  to  see  their 
clothes,  and  the  various  sorts,  and  what  a  mixture  of 
things  there  was  5  here  a  wooden  leg,  there  a  ruff,  here  a 
hobby-horse,  there  a  crown,  would  make  a  man  split 
himself  to  see  with  laughing;  and  particularly  Lacy's 
wardrobe,  and  Shotrell's.-^  But  then  again  to  think  how 
fine  they  show  on   the   stage   by  candle-light,  and  how 

♦Robert   Shotterel,  an   actor   in    the  King's   company,  mentioned    by 
Downes.    He  was  living  as  late  as  1684,  but  httle  is  known  of  him. 


88 


THE   MEEEY  MONAECH  ; 


poor  tilings  they  are  to  look  at  too  near  hand,  is  not 
pleasant  at  all.  The  machines  are  fine,  and  the  paint- 
ings very  pretty/^ 

We  have  here  a  reference  to  the  principal  seamen  of  the 

Restoration : — 

"AprillSth.— To  Mr.  Lilly's,  the  painter's   [Sir  Peter 

Lely]  ;  and  there  saw  the  heads,  some  finished,  and  all 
begun,  of  the  Flagmen  [i.e..  Admirals]  in  the  late  great 
fight  [June  lst-3rd]  with  the  Duke  of  York  against  the 
Dutch.  The  Duke  of  York  hath  them  done  to  hang  in 
his  chamber,  and  very  finely  they  are  done  indeed.  Here 
are  the  Prince's,  Sir  G.  Ascue's,  Sir  Thomas  Teddiman's, 
Sir  Christopher  Mings's,  Sir  Joseph  Jordan's,  Sir  William 
Berkeley's,  Sir  Thomas  Allen's,  and  Captain  [Sir  John] 
Barman's,  as  also  the  Duke  of  Albemarle's  ;  and  will  be 
my  Lord  Sandwich's,  Sir  W.  Penn's,  and  Sir  Jeremy 
Smith's.  I  was  very  well  satisfied  with  this  sight,  and 
other  good  pictures  hanging  in  the  house." 

With  the  omission  of  Prince  Rupert's,  and  the  addition 
of  Sir  John  Lawson's,  this  gallery  of  sea-captains  may  now 
be  seen  in  the  Naval  Hall  at  Greenwich.  There  is  also  a 
copy  of  Prince  Rupert's,  but  the  original  is  at  Windsor 
Castle.  Prince  Rupert's  is  a  whole-length;  the  others 
are  half-lengths. 

Mr.  Pepys  will  be  master  in  his  own  house  :— 
"  May  4th.— Home  to  dinner,  and  had  a  great  fray  with 
my  wife  about  Browne's  coming  to  teach  her  to  paint,  and 
sitting  with  me  at  table,  which  I  will  not  yield  to.  I  do 
thoroughly  believe  she  means  no  hurt  in  it ;  but  very 
angry  we  were,  and  I  resolved  aU  into  my  having  my  will 
done,  without  disputing,  be  the  reason  what  it  wiU ;  and 
so  I  will  have  it." 


OE,   ENGLAITD   UNDEE  CHAELES   II. 


89 


Mr.  Pepys  enjoys  himself  :— 

"May  29th. — King's  birth-day  and  Restoration  Day. 
Waked  with  the  ringing  of  bells  all  over  the  town :  so  up 
.before  five  o'clock,  and  to  the  office.  At  noon  I  did,  upon 
.  a  small  invitation  of  Sir  William  Penn's,  go  and  dine  with 
.Sir  William  Coventry  at  his  office,  where  great  good 
cheer,  and  many  pleasant  stories  of  Sir  William  Coventry. 
After  dinner,  to  the  Victualling  Office  ;  and  there,  beyond 
belief,  did  acquit  myself  very  well  to  full  content ;  so  that, 
beyond  expectation,  I  got  over  that  second  rub  in  this 
business ;  and  if  ever  I  fall  on  it  again,  I  deserve  to  be 
undone.  My  wife  comes  to  me,  to  tell  me,  that  if  I 
would  see  the  handsomest  woman  in  England,  I  shall 
come  home  presently;  and  who  should  it  be  but  the 
pretty  lady  of  our  parish,  that  did  heretofore  sit  on  the 
other  side  of  our  church,  over  against  our  gallery,  that  is 
since  married — she  with  Mrs.  Anne  Jones,  one  of  this 
parish,  that  dances  finely.  And  so  I  home ;  and  she  is 
a  pretty  black  woman — her  name  Mrs.  Horsely.  But, 
Lord !  to  see  how  my  nature  could  not  refrain  from  the 
temptation;  but  I  must  invite  them  to  go  to  Foxhall, 
to  Spring  Gardens,  though  T  had  freshly  received  minutes 
of  a  great  deal  of  extraordinary  business.  However,  I 
sent  them  before  with  Creed,  and  I  did  some  of  my 
business ;  and  so  after  them,  and  find  them  there,  in  an 
arbour,  and  had  met  with  Mrs.  Pierce,  and  some  company 
with  her.  So  here  I  spent  20s.  upon  them,  and  were 
pretty  merry.  Among  other  things,  had  a  fellow  that 
imitated  all  manner  of  birds,  and  dogs,  and  hogs,  with 
his  voice,*  which  was  mighty  pleasant.     Staid  here  till 

*  This  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  permanent  attractions  of  Vauxhall. 
Many  of  our  older  readers  will  probably  remember  the  ever-notorious  "  Herr 
.  Joel,"  whose  boast  it  was  that  he  mimicked  all  the  sounds  of  a  farm-yai-d. 


90 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


nifflit,  tlien  set  Mrs.  Pierce  in  at  tlie  New  Exchange  ;  and 
ourselves  took  coacli,  and  so  set  Mrs.  Horsely  liome,  and 
then  home  ourselves,  hut  with  great  trouhle  in  the 
streets,  hy  honfires,  it  being  the  King's  birthday  and 
day  of  Restoration." 

We  gather  from  the  Diary  some  curious  particulars  of 
the  great  sea  battle  on  the  2nd  and  3rd  of  June,  1666— 
the  battle  which  Dryden  has  celebrated  in  his  Amms 
Mirahilis  with  such  elaborate  word-painting.  Pepys  tells 
us  how,  walking  in  Greenwich  Park  on  the  2nd  of  June, 
he  "  could  hear  the  guns  from  the  fleet  most  plainly/' 
He  hastens  to  the  water-side,  and  sees  Charles  II.  and  the 
Duke  of  York  come  down  in  their  barge  to  Greenwich 
House,  attracted  by  the  same  ominous  sound.  It  is 
known  that  Monk  was  lying  at  the  Nore,  waiting  for 
Prince  Rupert  to  join  him  with  his  division,  and  bring 
up  his  force  to  an  equality  with  the  Dutch.  The  ap- 
prehension in  everybody's  mind  is,  that  the  junction  may 
not  have  been  efiPected,  as  was  indeed  the  case,  and  Monk 
may  therefore  be  exposed  to  the  overwhelming  attack  of 
the  whole  Dutch  fleet.  "  All  our  hopes  now,"  says  Pepys, 
"  are,  that  Prince  Rupert  with  his  fleet  is  coming  back, 
and  will  be  with  the  fleet  this  even  :  a  message  being  sent 
to  him  for  that  purpose,  on  Wednesday  last ;  and  a  return 
is  come-  from  him  this  morning,  that  he  did  intend  to  sail 
from  St.  Helen's  point  [in  the  Isle  of  Wight]  about  four 
in  the  afternoon  yesterday ;  which  gives  us  great  hopes, 
the  wind  being  very  fair,  that  he  is  with  them  this  even, 
and  the  fresh  going  off  of  the  guns  makes  us  believe  the 


same. 


i> 


Pepys  hurries  down  to  Black  wall,  and  there  sees  the 
soldiers  embarked,  who  are  intended  to  reinforce  Monk. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


01 


He  notes  that  most  of  them  ware  drunk.  "  But,  lord  !  "  he 
says,  "to  see  how  the  poor  fellows  kissed  their  wives  and 
sweethearts  in  that  simple  manner  at  their  going  off,  and 
shouted,  and  let  off  their  guns,  was  strange  sport."  Next 
day,  Whit- Sunday,  he  receives  the  good  news  that  the 
Dutch  ships  have  suffered  severely,  and  he  hastens  to 
church  in  the  sermon-time,  and  with  great  joy  tells  it  to 
his  fellows  in  the  pew,  who,  we  may  be  sure,  listened  to  no 
more  of  the  sermon.  Later  in  the  day,  the  tables  are 
turned ;  the  ill-tidings  arrive  that  the  Prince,  with  his 
fleet,  did  not  reach  Dover  "  until  ten  of  the  clock  at 
night ''  yesterday,  having  delayed,  with  his  characteristic 
obstinacy,  to  act  on  the  orders  he  had  received.  "  This  is 
hard  to  answer,"  writes  Pepys,  "  if  it  be  true.  This  puts 
great  astonishment  into  the  King,  and  Duke,  and  Court, 
everybody  being  out  of  countenance."  He  goes  home  by 
the  Exchange,  which  is  still  full  of  people,  all  of  whom  are 
commenting  bitterly  on  the  failure  of  the  Prince  "  in  not 
makina*  more  haste  after  his  instructions  did  come,  and 
of  our  managements  here  in  not  giving  it  sooner,  and  with 
more  care,  and  oftener." 

On  the  following  day,  while  he  is  sitting  in  his  room  at 
home,  he  is  informed  that  two  men  from  the  fleet  desire 
to  speak  with  him,  and  going  downstairs,  encounters 
"  Mr.  Daniel,  all  muffled  up,  and  his  face  as  black  as  the 
chimney,  and  covered  with  dirt,  pitch,  and  tar,  and 
powder,  and  muffled  with  dirty  clouts,  and  his  right  eye 
stopped  with  oakum."  He  left  the  fleet  at  five  o'clock 
last  night,  with  a  wounded  comrade ;  they  were  set  on 
shore  at  Harwich  at  two  this  morning ;  and,  riding  fast, 
arrived  in  London  between  eleven  and  twelve.  Pepys 
calls   a  coach,   and  carries    the    two  wounded   men   to 


^2 


THE   MEEET   MONARCH; 


Somerset  House  Stairs,  where  he  takes  boat,  and  with 
mingled  feelings   of    exultant  patriotism   and   gratified 
vanity,  for  "  all  the  world  was  gazing  upon  us,  and  con- 
xjluding  it  to  be  news  from  the  fleet,''  proceeds  to  the  royal 
presence  at  Whitehall.     The  King  is  mighty  pleased  with 
the  information  Pepys  brings,  takes  him  by  the  hand,  and 
talks  a  little  about  it.    Afterwards  the  two  seamen  are  in- 
troduced, and  tell  their  story  simply  enough,  as  follows : — 
"  How  we  found  the  Dutch  fleet  at  anchor  on  Friday, 
half-seas  over,  between  Dunkirk  and  Ostend,  and  made 
them  let  slip  their  anchors.    They  were  about  ninety,  and 
we  less  than  sixty.    We  fought  them,  and  put  them  to  the 
run,  till  they  met  with  about  sixteen  sails  of  fresh  ships, 
and  so  bore  up  again.   The  fight  continued  till  night,  and 
then  again   the    next   morning,    from   five  till  seven  at 
night.     And  so,  too,  yesterday  morning  they  began  again, 
and  continued  till  about  four  o'clock ;  they  chasing  us 
for  the  most  part  of  Saturday,  and  yesterday  we  flying 
from  them.     The  Duke   himself  by   and   by   spied   the 
Prince's  fleet   coming,  upon  which  De  Euyter  called  a 
little  council,  being   in   chase  at   this  time,  of  us,  and 
thereupon  their  fleet  divided  into  two  squadrons,  forty 
in  one,  and  about  thirty  in  the  other,  the  fleet  being  at 
first   about   ninety,   but,    by    one   accident   or   another, 
supposed  to  be  lessened  to  about  seventy;  the  bigger  to 
follow  the  Duke,  the  less  to  meet  the  Prince.     But  the 
Prince  came  up  with  the  General's  fleet,  and  the  Dutch 
came  together  again,  and  bore  towards  their  own  coast, 
and  we  with  them ;  and  now  what  the  consequence  of  this 
day  will  be,  we  know  not.     The  Duke  was  forced  to  come 
to  anchor  on  Friday,  having  lost  his  sails  and  rigging. 
1^0  particular  person  spoken  of  to  be  hurt  but  Sir  W. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


oa 


Clarke,  who  hath  lost  his  leg,  and  bore  it  bravely.  The 
Duke  himself  had  a  little  hurt  in  his  thigh,  but  signified 
little." 

When  the  sailors  have  made  an  end  of  their  story,  King 
Charles  pulls  out  of  his  pocket  about  twenty  pieces  in 
gold,  and  gives  them  to  Daniel  for  himself  and  his  com- 
panion, and  then  dismisses  them. 

Of  the  many  bloody  and  desperate  battles  which  marked 
the  long  struggle  between  England  and  Holland  for  naval 
and  commercial  supremacy,  this,  perhaps,  was  the 
bloodiest  and  most  desperate.  It  extended  over  four 
days,  and  its  result  was  not  so  glorious  as  the  Court  and 
Dry  den  would  have  had  the  people  believe.  *^  Lord  !  to  see 
how  melancholy  the  Court  is,  under  the  thoughts  of  this 
last  overthrow,  for  so  it  is,  instead  of  a  victory,"  writes 
Mr.  Pepys,  in  the  frank  privacy  of  his  ciphered  record. 
There  were  no  daily  newspapers  in  1666  to  blurt  out  in- 
convenient truths.  The  London  Gazette  and  Eoger 
L'Estrange's  Neios  and  Intelligencer ,  *'  published  for  the 
satisfaction  and  information  of  the  People,"  "^  told  only 
what  the  Government  wished  to  be  told ;  but  the  nation 
could  not  but  see  that  there  were  no  prizes  in  the  Thames, 
and  disabled  seamen,  returning  to  their  homes,  soon 
spread  abroad  unwelcome  details  of  the  disastrous  fight. 
On  the  15th  of  June  Evelyn  went  to  Sheerness,  and  there  ob- 
tained convincing  evidence  of  its  calamitous  character.  "  I 
beheld,"  he  says,  ^'  a  sad  spectacle,  more  than  half  that 
gallant  bulwark  of  the  nation  miserably  shattered  ;  hardly 
a  vessel  entire,  but  appearing  so  many  wrecks  and  hulls, 
so  cruelly  had  the  Dutch  mangled  us."     Something  was 

♦  The  News  and  Intelligencer  were  first  published  in  1663  ;  The  Gazette  oa 
Is^ov.  7th,  1665. 


94 


THE  MEEEY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


95 


done  to  retrieve  the  renown  of  the  Bed  Cross  on  the  25th 
of  July,  when  Monk  and  Enpert  chased  the  Hollanders 
into  the  Texel;  but  soon  afterwards  the  English  admirals 
set  an  evil  example  by  entering  the  channel  at  SchoUing, 
and  burning  to  the  ground  the  unfortified  town  of 
Brandaris— an  outrage  which  the  Dutch  so  signally 
avenged  with  the  thunder  of  their  guns  in  the  Medway 
and  the  Nore.  Yet  it  was  in  the  face  of  such  facts  as 
these  that  Dryden  wrote  — 

Already  we  have  conquered  half  the  war, 
And  the  less  dangerous  part  is  left  behind  ; 

Our  trouble  now  is  but  to  make  them  dare, 
And  not  bo  great  to  vanquish  aa  to  find — 

an  insult  to  a  brave  people  unworthy  of  a  generous  foe ! 

We  must  bring  our  quotations  to  a  close,  from  sheer 
want  of  space,  not  from  lack  of  interest,  for  there  is 
scarcely  a  page  in  Pepys  which  does  not  throw  some  light 
on  persons,  or  events,  or  manners.  The  undignified  rela- 
tion in  which  the  King  stood  to  his  imperious  mistress. 
Lady  Castlemaine,  is  vividly  exposed  in  the  following 
curious  passage  under  the  date  of  June  10th — that  is,  at 
the  very  time  when  the  honour  and  security  of  the  king- 
dom were  reeling  under  the  heavy  shock  of  the  recent 
naval  disaster . — 

"  He  [Mr.  Penn,  the  royal  chirurgeon]  tells  me  further, 
how  the  Duke  of  York  is  wholly  given  up  to  his  new 
mistress,  my  Lady  Denham,  going  at  noon-day  with  all 
his  gentlemen  with  him  to  visit  her  in  Scotland  Yard ; 
she  declaring  she  will  not  be  his  mistress,  as  Mrs.  Price, 
to  go  up  and  down  the  Privy-stairs,  but  will  be  owned 
publicly ;  and  so  she  is.    Mr.  Brounker,^  it  seems,  was 

*  Brounker  was  gentleman  of  the  chanaber  to  the  Duke  of  York,  and 
brother  to  Lord  Brounker,  president  of  the  Royal  Society.  He  was  a  person 
of  infamous  character,  and  to  his  treachery  or  cowardice  was  due  the 


the  pimp  to  bring  it  about ;  and  my  Lady  Castlemaine, 
who  designs  thereby  to  fortify  herself  by  the  Duke  ;  there 
being  a  falling-out  the  other  day  between  the  King  and 
her  :  on  this  occasion,  the  Queen,  in  ordinary  talk  before 
the  ladies  in  her  dressing-room,  did  say  to  my  Lady 
Castlemaine  that  she  feared  the  King  did  take  cold  in 
staying  so  late  abroad  at  her  house.  She  answered,  before 
them  all,  tluit  he  did  not  stay  so  late  abroad  with  her,  for 
lie  went  betimes  thence,  though  he  do  not  before  one,  two, 
or  three  in  the  morning,  but  must  stay  somewhere  else. 
The  King  then  coming  in,  and  overhearing,  did  whisper 
in  the  ear  aside,  and  told  her  she  was  a  bold,  impertinent 
woman,  and  bid  her  to  be  gone  out  of  the  Court,  and  not 
come  again  till  he  sent  for  her ;  which  she  did  presently, 
and  went  to  a  lodging  in  the  Pall  Mall,  and  kei3t  there 
two  or  three  days,  and  then  sent  to  the  King  to  know 
whether  she  might  send  for  her  things  away  out  of  her 
house.  The  King  sent  to  her,  she  must  first  come  and 
view  them :  and  so  she  come,  and  the  King  went  to  her, 
and  all  friends  again.  He  tells  me  she  did,  in  her  anger, 
say  she  would  be  even  with  the  King,  and  print  his  letters 
to  her ;  so,  putting  all  together,  we  are,  and  are  like  to 
be,  in  a  sad  condition." 

Pepys  had  a  keen  eye,  and  suffered  nothing  to  escape 
him,  even  to  the  last  new  fashion  in  ladies'  dress : — 

indecisive  result  of  the  great  naval  battle  of  1665.  Pepys,  in  his  Diary, 
August  29th,  16G7,  notca  :  '*  I  hear  to-night  that  Mr.  15rounker  is  turned 
away  yesterday  by  the  Duke  of  York,  for  some  bold  words  he  was  heard  by 
Colonel  Warden  to  say  in  the  garden  the  day  the  Chancellor  was  with  the 
King — that  he  believed  the  King  would  be  hectored  out  of  anything.  For 
this,  the  Duke  of  York,  who  all  say  hath  been  very  strong  for  his  father-in- 
law  at  this  trial,  hath  turned  him  away  ;  and  everybody,  I  think,  is  glad  of 
it ;  for  he  was  a  peetileut  rogue,  an  atheist,  that  would  have  sold  his  King 
and  country  for  sixpence  almost,  so  corrupt  and  wicked  a  rogue  he  is  by  all 
men's  report.  But  one  observed  to  me,  that  there  never  was  the  occasion 
of  men's  holding  their  tongues  at  Court,  and  everywhere  else,  as  there  is  afc 
this  day,  for  nobody  knows  which  side  will  be  uppermost." 


96 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


**  June  11th.— Walking  in  the  galleries  at  White  Hall,- 
I  find  the  Ladies  of  Honour  dressed  in  their  riding  garbs, 
with  coats  and  doublets  with  deep  skirts,  just,  for  all  the 
world,  like  mine;  and  buttoned  their  doublets  up  the 
breast,  with  periwigs  and  with  hats  ;  so  that,  only  for  a 
long  petticoat  dragging  under  their  men's  coats,  nobody 
could  take  them  for  women  in  any  point  whatever ;  which 
was  an  odd  sight,  and  a  sight  did  not  please  me.  It  was 
Mrs.  Wells  and  another  fine  lady  that  I  saw  thus." 

Let  us  take  a  passing  glance  at  two  fine  gardens  :  — 

«  June  25th.— Mrs.  Penn  carried  us  to  two  gardens  at 
Hackney,  which  I  every  day  grew  more  and  more  in  love 
with,  Mr.  Drake's  one,    where  the  garden  is  good,  and 
house  and  the  prospect  admirable  ;  the  other  my  Lord 
Brooke's,  where  the  gardens  are  much  better,   but  the 
house  not  so  good,  nor  the  prospect  good  at  all.     But  the 
gardens  are  excellent ;  and  here  I  first  saw  oranges  grow, 
some  green,  some  half,  some  a  quarter,  and  some  full  ripe, 
on  the  same  tree ;  and  one  fruit  of  the  same  tree  do  come 
a  year  or  two  after  the  other.     I  pulled  off  a  little  one  by 
stealth,  the  man  being  mightily  curious  of  them,  and  eat 
it,  and  it  was  just  as  other  little  green  small  oranges  are ; 
as  big  as  half  the  end  of  my  Uttle  finger.     There  were  also 
great  variety  of  other  exotique  plants,  and  several  laby- 
rinths, and  a  pretty  aviary." 

In  connection  with  this  subject  may  be  quoted  the  fol- 
lowing : — 

"July  22nd.— Walked  to  White  Hall,  where  we  saw 
nobody  almost,  but  walked  up  and  down  with  Hugh  May,"*^ 
who  is  a  very  ingenious  man.     Among  other  things,  dis- 

*  Hugb  May,  the  architect,  and  friend  of  Evelyn.  He  built  Cassiobury 
for  the  first  Earl  of  Essex  of  the  Capel  family,  in  1667-1679.  His  brother. 
Bob  May,  made  some  figure  in  the  Court,  and  had  lodgings  at  Whitehall. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


97 


coursing  of  the  present  fashion  of  gardens  to  make  them 
plain,  that  we  have  the  best  walks  of  gravel  in  the  world, 
France  having  none,   nor   Italy;    and   our  green   of  our 
bowling  alleys  is  better  than  any  they  have.     So  our  busi- 
ness here  being  air,  this  is  the  best  way,  only  with  a  little 
mixture  of  statues,  or  pots,  which  may  be  handsome,  and 
so  filled  with  another  pot  of  such  or  such  a  flower  or 
green,  as  the  season  of  the  year  will  bear.     And  then  for 
flowers,  they  are  best  seen  in  a  little  plat  by  themselves  : 
besides,  their  borders  spoil  the  walks  of  another  garden : 
and  then  for  fruit,  the  best  way  is  to  have  walls  built 
circularly  one  within  another,  to  the  south,  on  pui-pose 
for  fruit,  and   leave  the  walking  garden  only  for  that 
use.^' 

The  pleasures  of  our  forefathers  were  too  often  of  a  coarse 
description,  though  it  may  be  doubted  by  those  who  have 
seen  "  the  lower  orders  "  disporting  themselves  on  Bank 
Holidays  whether  we  are  jet  in  a  position  to  cast  stones 
at  them.     Mr.  Pepjs  records,  on  the  14th  of  August,  that, 
after  dinner,  he  went,  with  his  wife  and  her  maid,  Mercer 
to  the   Bear  Gardens   (situated  on  Bankside,  in  the  im- 
mediate vicinity  of  the  street  that  now  approaches  South- 
wark  Bridge),  and  saw  "some  good  sport  of  the  bulPs 
tossing  the  dogs— one  into  the  very  boxes.''     But  to  Mr. 
Pepys's   credit,   he  thought  it  "a  very  rude  and  nasty ^ 
pleasure."   He  continues:  "  We  had  a  great  many  Hectors' 
in  the  same  box  with  us,  and  one  very  fine  went  into  the 
pit,  and  played  his  dog  for  a  wager ;  which  was  a  stranc^e 
sport  for  a  gentleman  ;  where  they  drank  wine,  and  drank 
Mercer's  health  first ;  which  I  pledged  with  my  hat  off. 
We  supped  at  home,  and  very  merry."     The  merriment, 
as  we  shall  see,  was  sufficiently  rough.    "And  then  about 


VOL.    I. 


H 


98 


THE   MEERT  MONARCH; 


nine  to   Mrs.  Mercer's  gate,  wLere  the  girl  and  boys 
expected  ns,   and  her  son  had   provided  abundance  of 
serpents  and  rockets  ;  and  then  mighty  merry,  my  Lady 
Perm  and  Pegg  going  thither  with  us,  and  Nan  Wright, 
till  about  twelve  at  night,  flinging  our  fireworks,   and 
burning  one  another,  and  the  people  over  the  way.     And, 
at  last,  onr  business  being  most  spent,  we  went  into  Mrs. 
Mercer's,  and  there  mighty  merry,  smutting  one  another 
with  candle  grease  and  soot,  till  most  of  us  were  like 
devils.     And  that  being  done,  then  we  broke  up,  and  to 
my  house ;  and  there  I  made  them  drink,  and  upstairs  we 
went,   and  then  fell  into  dancing,  W.  Batelier  dancing 
well;  and  dressing,  him  and  1,  and  one  Mr.  Banister, 
who,  with  my  wife,  came  over  also  with  us,  like  women  ; 
and  Mercer  put  on  a  suit  of  Tom's,  like  a  boy,  and  mighty 
mirth  we  had,  and  Mercer  danced  a  jig ;  and  Nan  Wright 
and  my  wife  and  Pegg  Penn  put  on  periwigs.     Thus  we 
spent  tiU  three  or  four  in  the  morning,  mighty  merry ; 
and  then  parted,  and  to  bed." 

The  bull  and  bear-baiting  continued  in  vogue  for  more 
than  a  century  later ;  but  as  the  refinements  of  culture 
and  education  extended,  the  higher  classes  withdrew  their 
support,  and  at  length,  in  1835,  it  was  finally  abolished 
by  Act  of  Parliament.  Under  the  Tudor  and  Stuart 
monarchs,  however,  it  throve  apace.  Old  Burton  speaks  of 
it  as  a  pastime  ''  in  which  our  countrymen  and  citizens 
greatly  delight  and  frequently  use."  A  quaint  descrip- 
tion of  it  occurs  in  the  travels  of  Misson,  the  French 
advocate,  who  lived  in  Engrland  about  five-and-twenty 
years  after  Pepys  saw  the  sport  in  the  Bear  Garden. 
"  They  tie  a  rope,"  he  says,  "  to  the  root  of  the  horns  of 
the  bull,  and  fasten  the  other  end  of  the  cord  to  an  iron 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


99 


ring  fixed  to  a  stake  driven  into  the  ground  ;  so  that  this 
cord,  being  about  fifteen  feet  long,  the  bull  is  confined  to 
a  space  of  about  thirty  feet  diameter.     Several  butchers, 
or  other  gentlemen,  that  are  desirous  to  exercise  their 
dogs,  stand  round  about,  each  holding  his  own  by  the 
ears ;  and  when  the  sport  begins,  they  let  loose  one  of  the 
dogs.     The  dog  runs  at  the  bull ;  the  bull,  immovable, 
looks  down  upon  the  dog  with  an  eye  of  scorn,  and  only 
turns   a  horn  to  him,  to  hinder  him  from  coming  near. 
The  dog  is  not  daunted  at  this,  he  runs  round  him,  and 
tries  to  get  beneath  his  belly.     The  bull  then  puts  himself 
into  a  posture  of  defence ;  he  beats  the  ground  with  his 
feet,  which  he  joins  together  as  closely  as  possible,  and 
his  chief  aim  is  not  to  gore  the  dog  with  the  point  of  his 
horn  (which,  when  too  sharp,  is  put  into  a  kind  of  wooden 
sheath),  but  to  slide  one  of  them  under  the  dog's  belly, 
who  creeps  close  to  the  ground  to  hinder  it,  and  to  throw 
him  so  high  in  the  air  that  he  may  break  his  neck  in  the 
fall.     To  avoid  this  danger,  the  dog's  friends  are  ready 
beneath  him,  some  with  their  backs,  to  give  him  a  soft 
reception ;  and  others  with  long  poles,  which  they  offer 
him  slantways,  to  the  intent  that,  sliding  down  them,  it 
may  break  the  force  of  his  fall.     Notwithstanding  all  this 
care,  a  toss  generally  makes  him  sing  to  a  very  noisy 
tune,    and  draw  his  phiz  into  a  pitiful  grimace.     But 
unless  he  is  totally  stunned  with  the  fall,  he  is  sure  to 
crawl  again  towards  the  bull,  come  on't  what  will.    Some- 
times a  second  frisk  into  the  air  disables  him  for  ever ; 
but,  sometimes,  too,  he  fastens  upon  his  enemy,  and  when 
once  he  has  seized  him  with  his  eye-teeth,  he  sticks  to 
him  like  a  leech,  and  would  sooner  die  than  leave  his  hold. 
Then  the  bull  bellows,  and  bounds,  and  kicks,  all  to  shake 


100 


THE  MEEEY  MONAECH. 


off  the  dog.  In  the  end,  either  the  dog  tears  out  the 
piece  he  has  laid  hold  on,  and  falls,  or  else  remains  fixed 
to  him  mth  an  obstinacy  that  would  never  end,  did  they 
not  pull  him  off.  To  call  him  away,  would  be  in  vain ;  to 
give  him  a  hundred  blows,  would  be  as  much  so ;  you 
might  cut  him  to  pieces,  joint  by  joint,  before  he  would 
let  him  loose.  What  is  to  be  done  then  ?  While  some 
hold  the  bull,  others  thrust  staves  into  the  dog's  mouth, 
and  open  it  by  main  force." 


THE  MUSICIANS. 


Progress  of  the  Art. 
The  Protectorate. 
The  Restoration. 
Instrumental  Music. 
Lowe. 
Clifford. 
Birchenshaw. 
Dr.  Child. 
Henry  Lawes, 


Dr.  Wilson. 
Dr.  Eogers. 
John  Jenkins. 
Dr.  Colman. 
Matthew  Lock. 
Pelham  Humfry. 
Banister. 
Dr.  Blow. 
Henry  Purcell. 


CHAPTEE  II. 


the      musicians. 

Progress  of  the  Art— The  Protectorate— The  Re- 
storation—Instrumental Music— Lowe— Clifford 
^  Birchenshaw— Dr.  Child— Henry  Lawes— Dr. 
Wilson— Dr.  Rogers— John  Jenkins— Dr.  Col- 
man— Matthew  Lock— Pelham  Humfry— Banister 
— Dr.  Blow— Henry  Purcell. 

A  REMARKABLE  impulse  was  given  to  the  progress  of  music 
in  England,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  and  the  early 
years  of  the  seventeenth  centuries,  by  the  production  of 
those  musical  dramas  and  masques  which  "  so  did  take 
Elizabeth  and  our  James."     In  these  precursors  of  the 
modern  opera  the  influence  of  the  Italian  composers  made 
itself  felt.     The  "  stylo  recitative,"  which  has  undergone 
but  little  alteration  to  the  present  day,  was  first  intro- 
duced in  1617,  in  "  The  Masque  of  Lethe,"  written  by  Ben 
Jonson  for  the  Lord  Hay.     The  poet  was  so  pleased  with 
its  success  that  he  immediately  wrote  another  masque  of 
the  same  kind,  though  with  larger  opportunities  for  the 
composer,  "  The  Vision  of  Delight,"  acted  at  Court  in  the 
Christmas  of  1617.     It  consisted  of  recitative,  air  ("  Break, 
Phantasie,  from  thy  cave  of  cloud"),  chorus,  and  baUet. 
The  music  for  both  these  pieces  was  composed  by  Nicholas 
Laniere. 


CHAPTEE  II. 


the      musicians, 

Progress  of  the  Art— The  Protectorate— The  Re- 
storation—Instrumental Music— Lowe— Clifford 
—  BiRCHENSHAW— Dr.  Child— Henry  Lawes— Dr. 
Wilson— Dr.  Rogers— John  Jenkins— Dr.  Col- 
man— Matthew  Lock— Pelham  Humfry— Banister 
— Dr.  Blow — Henry  Purcell. 

A  REMARKABLE  impulse  was  given  to  the  progress  of  music 
in  England,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  and  the  early 
years  of  the  seventeenth  centuries,  by  the  production  of 
those  musical  dramas  and  masques  which  "  so  did  take 
Elizabeth  and  our  James."     In  these  precursors  of  the 
modern  opera  the  influence  of  the  Italian  composers  made 
itself  felt.     The  "  stylo  recitative,"  which  has  undergone 
but  little  alteration  to  the  present  day,  was  first  intro- 
duced in  1617,  in  "  The  Masque  of  Lethe,"  written  by  Ben 
Jonson  for  the  Lord  Hay.     The  poet  was  so  pleased  with 
its  success  that  he  immediately  wrote  another  masque  of 
the  same  kind,  though  with  larger  opportunities  for  the 
composer,  "  The  Vision  of  Delight,"  acted  at  Court  in  the 
Christmas  of  1617.     It  consisted  of  recitative,  air  ("  Break, 
Phantasie,  from  thy  cave  of  cloud"),  chorus,  and  baUet. 
The  music  for  both  these  pieces  was  composed  by  Nicholas 
Laniere. 


104 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


But  the  aid  and  embellishment  of  music  was  not  con- 
fined to  the  masques  ;  songs  and  instrumental  interludes 
were  introduced  into  every  form  of  dramatic  composition, 
and  the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
Ben  Jonson  and  Massinger,  were  frequently  enriched  with 
lyrical  ornament.  Thus  it  happened  that  the  vocal  music 
of  the  stage  came  to  be  very  various,  and  included  airs, 
duets,  trios,  dialogues,  and  choruses.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  music  of  the  chamber  continued  monotonous, 
being  confined  almost  exclusively  to  the  madrigal.  About 
1620,  however,  we  meet  with  "  Ayres  in  four  and  more 
parts,^'  and  with  solos,  to  be  accompanied  by  lute  or  viol. 
Among  the  most  popular  of  these  were  Ferrabosco^s  com- 
positions. Eounds,  catches,  and  canons  were  invented  at 
this  time  ;  the  first  printed  collection,  Eavenscroft's  "Pam- 
melia.  Musick's,  Miscellanie :  or  Mixed  Varieties  of  Plea- 
sant Eoundelayes  and  delightful  Catches,  of  3,  4,  5,  C,  7, 
8,  9,  10  Parts  in  one,"  ^  being  published  in  1609.  We 
extract  a  specimen  of  a  Eound  for  Four  Voices  : — 


i 


e; 


-<&- 


zz 


-<S»— lS>- 


' rO  '  . 


t=t 


JEz^zzi 


2^=1^ 


Love,  love,         sweet    love,  for     e  -  vermore  fare -well      to 


i 


t 


j^: 


2± 


-Gh 


^   -id- 


^ 


"C^ 


^ 


-^ 


thee,  for       For  .  tune  hath  de  -  ceiv-ed    me,  5e  -  ceiv-ed         me; 


w~Y~^T^ 


-iS»- 


—  H   tL T- 

-^ — g<s^ 


T^- 


zi: 


-G^- 


For  -  tune,  my     foe,    most    con  -  tra  -  ry  hath  wrought  me  this  mise- 


i 


-€:>- 


P*   I    <G>- 


:^ 


i^i^ip; 


23t 


zx 


-  ry;butyetmylove,my8weetlove,farewell  to    thee, fare-well  to        thee. 

*  *'  None  so  ordinarie  as  musicall,"  says  the  title  page,  "  none  so  musical 
as  not  to  all  very  pleasing  and  acceptable." 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


105 


In  his  desire  to  promote  the  best  interests  of  the  art 
which  he  passionately  loved,  Charles  T.,  in  1636,  granted 
to  Laniere  and  other  eminent  musicians  a  charter,  based 
upon  one  of  Edward  IV.,  incorporating  them  under  the 
style  of  "  The  Marshal,  Wardens,  and  Cominality  of  the 
Arte  and  Science  of  Musicke  in  Westminster,"  and  author- 
ising them  to  control  and  regulate  all  matters  connected 
with  music  throughout  the  kingdom  (the  county  palatine 
of  Chester  alone  excepted).  This  corporation  seems  to 
have  been  suspended  during  the  Protectorate,  but  at  the 
Eestoration  it  was  revived. 

In  the  seventeenth  century  instrumental  music,  in  parts, 
found  its  way  from  the  theatre  into  the  chamber.     At  first 
it  was  used  to  accompany  and  reinforce  the  voice  in  the  per- 
formance of  madrigals,  but  its  capabilities  apart  from  the 
voice  were  soon  discovered,  and  composers  entered  gladly 
upon  a  new  and  wide  field  of  musical  effort.  Pieces  of  three 
to  six  parts,  written  for  viols  and  other  instruments,  were 
composed  under  the  general  name  of  "  fantasies,"  or  "fan- 
cies," which  abounded,  says  Hawkins,  in  fugues,  and  little 
responsible  passages,  and  all  those  other  elegancies  ob- 
servable in  the  structure  and  contrivance  of  the  madrigal. 
Many  madrigals  and  motets  were,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
converted  into  "  fantasies."     So  popular  grew  this  species 
of  composition,  that  almost  every  musical  family  rejoiced 
in  the  possession  of  two  tenors,  two  trebles,  and  two  basses, 
constituting  what  was  called    -  a  chest ; "  and  for  this 
combination,  or  even  for  "  five  cornets,"  several  composi- 
tions  were  written,  as  well  as  for  the    "Virginals,"  by 
Bird  and  Orlando  Gibbons  in  the  "  Parthenia."  *     These 

*  "  Parthenia  •  or,  The  Maydenhead   of  the  first  mnsicke  that  ever  was 
printer?ftre  Virginal!^  ConjpLed  by  t^^  ^^^^^^^^^^ 
Dr.  John  Bull,   and  Orlando  Gibbons,  Gentilmen  ot  ms  ma        m 
trious  Chappell,"  1611. 


106 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


OR,   ENGLAND   UNDER   CHARLES   II. 


107 


were  neither  very  tuneful  nor  very  elaborate  ;  the  narrow 
range  of  the  '^fantasie"  preventing  the  composer  from 
giving  free  rein  to  his  faculties  of  grace  and  expression. 

During  the  Civil  War  music  was  necessarily  at  a  stand- 
still ;  there  was  no  time  for  its  cultivation  when  the  nation 
was  arrayed  in  two  hostile  camps,  and  men's  minds  were 
filled  with  apprehensions  of  the  issue  of  the  struggle.     It 
revived  under  the  care  of  the  Protector,   who,  like  his 
secretary,  Milton,  had  a  passion  for  the  art.     In  1653  was 
published  the  first  book  of  "  Ayres  and  Dialogues,"  by 
Henry  Lawes,  and  a  variety  of  other  works  by  Colman, 
Simpson,  Webb,   Child,   Cook,   and  Kogers  met  with  a 
cordial  welcome  from  the  public.     In  1657  appeared  the 
"  Lessons  for  the  Virginals,^'  by  Bull,  Gibbous,  and  other 
masters   of  repute.     In  the   same  year  Matthew  Lock 
produced  his  first  work,  a  "  Little  Consort  of  three  Parts, 
for  Viols."    Plays,  as  we  have  seen,  were  prohibited,  but  as 
early  as  1656  Sir  William  Davenant  obtained  a  license  for 
the  performance  of  operas  at  Eutland  House,  in  Charter- 
house Square,  under  the  title  of  "  Entertainments  in  De- 
clamation and  Music,  after  the  Manner  of  the  Ancients.'' 
At  the  Eestoration  the  Arts  sprang  up  into  a  new  life, 
favoured  by  the  encouragement  of  a  luxurious  and  accom- 
plished Court.     The  Eoyal  Chapel  nurtured  a  school  of 
excellent  composers,  and  great  advances  were  made  in 
composition  by  Humphrey,  Blow,  and  Wise,  by  Tudway 
and  Turner,  all  to  be  eclipsed  in  their  turn  by  the  genius 
of  Purcell,  the  greatest  of  English  musicians,  who,  had  he 
lived  longer,  would  probably  have  given  to  English  music 
a  distinct  and  original  character.     It  was  he  who  first 
transformed  the  masque  into  the  opera ;  or  rather,  anni- 
hilated the  one,  and  substituted  the  other  in  its  place. 


"and  this,"  says  Eockstro,  "he  did  so  satisfactorily,  that, 
measuring  his  success  by  the  then   condition  of  Art  in 
France  and  Italy,  he  left  nothing  more  to  be  desired.     His 
recitative,  no  less  rhetorically  perfect  than  Lulli's,  was 
infinitely  more  natural,  and  frequently  impassioned  to  the 
last  degree ;  and  his   airs,  despite  his  self-confessed  ad- 
miration for  the  Italian   style,   show  little  trace  of  the 
forms  then  most  in  vogue,  but  breathing  rather  the  spirit 
of  unfettered  National  Melody,  stand  forth  as  models  of 
refinement  and  freedom." 

Towards  the  end  of  Charles's  reign  the  true  capacity  and 
character  of  the  violin  began  to  be  appreciated,  and  that 
noble  instrument  rose  into  its  right  position  in  the  public 
favour.     At  Court  a  band  of  violins,  tenors,  and  basses 
happily  supplied  the  place  of  viols,  lutes,  and  cornets^- 
a  step  in  advance  of  which  the  musician  will  recognise  the 
full  importance.     For  accompanying  the  voice,  however, 
the  lute  and  guitar  were  still  in  request.     Nor,  while 
composition  and   execution  were  undergoing  a  gradual 
process  of  development,  was   theory   neglected.    In  the 
year  after  the  Eestoration  Edward  Lowe  pubhshed  his 
"  Short  Directions   for   the   Performance    of    Cathedral 
Service,"    in    which,   to    the    notation    of   the    preces, 
versicles,    and    responses,    he    added     chants    for     the 
Psalms  and  Te  Deum,  with  Tallis's  Litany  in   counter- 
point, Parsons's  Burial  Service,  and  the  Te  Deum,  all  in 

four  parts. 

Three  years  later  the  Eev.  James  Clifford  gave  to  the 
^orld  "  A  Collection  of  the  Divine  Services  and  Anthems 
usually  sung  in  the  Cathedrals  and  CoUegiate  Choirs  of 


*  An  ins 


trument  eomewliat  resembling  the  modern  «  serpent/* 


108 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


109 


the  Church  of  England/'  to  which  are  prefixed,  ''  Brief 
Directions  for  the  understanding  of  that  part  of  the  Divine 
Service  performed  with  the  Organ  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral 
on  Sundays  and  Holydays."  In  the  same  year  a  certain 
John  Birchenshaw^  translated  the  "  Templum  Musicum  : 
or,  the  Musical  Synopsis  of  the  learned  and  famous 
Johannes  Henricus  Alstedius  ;  being  a  Compendium  of 
the  Eudiments  both  of  the  Mathematical  and  practical 
part  of  Music ;  of  which  subject  not  any  book  is  extant  in 
the  English  tongue."  The  dry  and  ponderous  "  Theatrum  " 
failed  to  supply  the  want ;  and  its  place  was  taken,  in 
1667,  by  Christopher  Simpson's  clear  and  intelligent 
*^  Compendium,  or  Introduction  to  Practical  Music." 

We  now  proceed  to  sketch  the  careers  of  the  imncipal 
Musicians  of  the  Eestoration  period. 

One  of  the  chamber-musicians  to  the  King,  and  a 
chanter  of  the  Eoyal  Chapel,  was  Dr.  William  Child. 
Born  at  Bristol  in  1606,  he  received  his  musical  educa- 
tion at  the  Cathedral  there,  under  Elway  Bevin,  the 
organist.  In  1631,  being  then  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford, 
he  took  his  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Music.  In  1636  he 
was  appointed  one  of  the  royal  organists  of  St.  George's 
Chapel,  Windsor,  and  subsequently  to  a  similar  post  in 
the  chapel  at  Whitehall.  In  1663  he  obtained  his 
Doctor's  degree.  His  blameless  and  industrious  life  was 
prolonged  far  beyond  "the  glorious  Eevolution;"  and 
he  was  90  years  old  when  he  died  at  Windsor,  in  March, 
1697. 

*  In  Evelyn's  Diary,  under  the  date  of  August  3rd,  1664,  wo  read :  "  A 
concert  of  excellent  musicians,  especially  one  Mr.  Berkenshaw,  that  rare 
artist,  who  invented  a  mathematical  way  of  composure  [composition]  very 
extraordinary,  true  as  to  the  exact  notes  of  art,  but  without  much  har- 
mony." Birchenshaw  was  music-master  to  Pepys,  who  gave  him  £5  for  five 
weeks'  instruction. 


His  grave-stone  in  tlie  Chapel  Eoyal  bears  tlie  f ollomng 

inscription : — 

"  Go,  happy  soul,  and  in  the  seats  above 

Sing  endless  hymns  of  thy  great  Maker's  love. 
How  fit  in  heavenly  songs  to  bear  thy  part; 
Before  well-practised  in  the  sacred  art ; 
Whilst  hearing  us,  sometimes  the  choir  divine 
Will  snre  descend,  and  in  our  consort  join  ; 
So  much  the  music  thou  to  us  hast  given  ^ 

Hast  made  oar  earth  to  represent  thine  heaven.' 

It  is  said  of  him  that,  his  salary  as  organist  having 
fallen  largely  into  arrear,  he  promised  the  Dean  and 
Chapter,  if  the  amount  due  were  paid  up,  to  repave  the 
body  of  the  choir  of  the  Chapel.  The  bribe  was  accepted; 
the  Dean  and  Chapter  discharged  the  arrears  ;  and  Child 
then  carried  out  his  liberal  undertaking. 

As  a  composer.  Child's  merits  are  very  considerable. 
His  style  is  remarkable  for  its  simplicity ;  so  much  so 
that  it  would  sometimes  offend  the  performers.     "  When 
at   Windsor,  on  one  occasion,  he  called  the  choir  to^  a 
practice  of  an  anthem  he  had  just  composed,  the  choir- 
men  found  the  composition  so  plain  and  easy,  that  they 
treated  it  with  derision."   At  times,  however,  he  indulged 
in  rich  and  well-wrought  harmonies,  which  satisfy  the 
ear  by  their  fulness  and  gratify  the  imagination  by  their 
colouring.    This  is  especially  the  case  in  his  Service  in  D. 
His  works  consist  of  "  Psalms  for  Three  Voices,"  ';  Divine 
Anthems  and  Vocal  Compositions  to  several  pieces  of 
Poetry  "  and  various  catches  and  canons. 

The  name  of  Henry  Lawes  will  always  be  held  in  respect 
from  its  association  with  that  of  Milton.  He  was  born  in 
the  last  days  of  1695-the  son  of  Thomas  Lawes  a  native 
of  Salisbury,   and  a  vicar-choral  of  its  Cathedral.     His 


110 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


OR,   ENGLAND   TINDER   CHARLES    II. 


Ill 


musical  education  he    received  under  John  Cooper    (or 
Giovanni  Copreario,  as  lie  preferred  to  style  himself),  and 
on  January  6th,  1625,  was  sworn  in  as  epistler  of  the  Chapel 
Eoyal.     A  few  months  later,  and  he  became  one  of  the 
gentlemen  of  the  Chapel-— also  clerk  of  the  cheque— and 
afterwards  a  member  of   Charles  I.'s  private  band.     In 
conjunction  with  his  brother  William  and  Simon  Ives,  he 
composed  the  music  for  Shirley's  masque,  "The  Triumphs 
of  Peace,''  performed  at  Whitehall,  on  Candlemas-night, 
before  the  King  and  his  Court ;  and  in  the  same  year  set 
to   music   Thomas   Carew's    "  Coeluni   Britannicum,"    in 
which   Charles   I.   and   Henrietta  Maria,    the    Duke   of 
Lennox,   the  Earls   of   Devonshire,  Holland,  and  other 
nobles  took    part.      In    1634,    he    composed  the   music 
for  Milton's   '^Comus,"   which   originated,  as  everybody 
knows,  in  the  following  circumstances  :— 

The  Earl  of  Bridgewater,  as  Lord  President  of  Wales, 
desiring   to   give    a   large   entertainment  to    the  Welsh 
gentry,  resolved  that  one  feature  of  it  should  be  a  masque, 
and  desired  Milton   to  write   one   for   him.      The   poet 
founded  his  work  on  a  real  incident  -,  the  Earl's  children, 
Lord  Brackley  and  Mr.  Egerton,  and  Lady  Alice  Egerton, 
having  recently  been  benighted  in  passing  through  Hay- 
wood Forest,  and  the  young  lady  for  some  time  separated 
from  her  brothers.     A  beautiful  allegory  was  woven  round 
this   incident,    and    '^Comus"    was  the   result.      With 
infinite  skill,  Milton  adapted  it  to  the  conditions  under 
which  it  would  be  presented.     The  "  rout,"  or  following 
of  Comus,  disguised  with  the  heads  of  various  animals, 
supplied    the    necessary   masking.      Local    feeling    was 
gratified  by  the  introduction  of   Sabrina,  the  nymph  of 
the  Severn  ;    and  suitable  parts  were  provided  for  the 


Earl's  three  youngest  children,  the  Lady  Alice,  and  her 
brothers  John  and  Thomas,  aged  from  twelve  to  fifteen. 
These  children-actors  Milton  was  careful  to  present  in 
their  own  characters.     A  mimic  wood  was  built  up  on  the 
stage,  through  which  the  children  passed  on  their  way  to 
the  Earl  and  his  Countess,  who  sat  in  front,  and  to  whom 
at  the  close  they  addressed  themselves.  The  wood  typified 
the  world,  and  the   adventures   they  encountered  m  it 
the  temptations  to  which  youth  and  purity  are  exposed, 
and  over  which  they  triumph. 

Lawes,  as  already  a  popular  composer,  and  as  music- 
teacher  to  the  Lady  Alice,  was  naturally  engaged  to 
furnish  music  for  the  masque,  which  was  produced  m  the 
great  hall  of  Ludlow  Castle  on  the  29th  of  September, 
1634,  Lawes  himself  taking  the  part  of  Thyrsis,  or  the 

Attendant  Spirit.  The  musical  P-^^f^r^  '/tt 
Echo,"  "Sabrina  fair,"  "Back,  Shepherds,  ^^  To  the 
Ocean  wed,"  "  Now  my  task  is  smoothly  done,  and  the 
Dance  of  the  attendants  of  Comus,  all  of  -l^-l^  -- /- 
served  in  the  British  Museum,  while  "  Sweet  Echo  has 
been  printed  both  by  Hawkins  and  Burney.  We  subjom 
it,  for  the  convenience  of  the  reader,  to  whom  their  woiks 
may  not  be  accessible  :— 

Am  11!^    CoMUS. 


As  originally  set  ly  Henry  Laives. 


—m '__J — 5- — '- 


Sweet      E.cho,       sweet -est  nymph, 


that  liv'st    un  -  seen  . . 


^T:;;^:^^^  ^^^^^'     ^y     slow..Me.an-de.s„.ar..ent 


112 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


I 


XZ 


iXz^ 


^ r      rJ- 


I^     S     {^    I: 


ziiz:*: 


green, 


And  in    the  vi  -  o  -  let  embroider'd  vale,  Where  the  love-lorn 

tr 


i 


-^: 


n: 


4-3- 


P 


night -in  -gale  night -ly      to       thee    her  sad         song  mourn-eth 


:^ 


well,  Canst  thou  not    tell      me 


of     a     gen  -  tie  pair,       that 


^^ 


>_>-J^k 


-c?- 


-€3- 


£: 


:t2=;^ci;2: 


Uke  -  est  thy  Narciasus     are  ?        Oh,      if  thou  have  hid  them  in  some 


i 


^ 


-€>- 


r  rj 


5:^ 


ict 


l*^ 


flow-'ry  cave,         Tell    me  but  where,  sweet    queen  of  fan.cy,daugli- 


-"iJI— -— ^^ 


^: 


5 


-  ter  of  the  sphere.    So  may'st  thou  be  trans-plant-ed  to  the  ^Ides, 

ir 


p^^^^^m^^^^^ 


HS>- 


I 


And  hold     a    coun-ter-ix)int     to       all  heav'n's  bar  -  mo  -    nies. 

It  is  worth  noting  that  Milton's  poem  was  edited  and 
published  bj  Lawes.  It  appeared  in  1637  without  the 
author's  name.  In  his  dedication  to  Lord  Brackley,  Lawes 
says  that  "although  not  openly  acknowledged  by  the 
author,  yet  it  is  legitimate  offspring,  so  lovely  and  so 
much  to  be  desired,  that  the  often  copying  of  it  hath  tired 
my  pen  to  give  my  several  friends  satisfaction,  and 
brought  me  to  the  necessity  of  producing  it  to  the  public 
view.'^  The  poet  has  introduced  a  graceful  reference  to  the 
musical  genius  of  his  friend  in  the  speech  of  Thyrsis  : — 

♦'  But  I  moBt  put  off 
These  my  sky  robes,  spun  out  of  Iris'  woof, 
And  take  the  weeds  and  likeness  of  a  swain. 
That  to  the  service  of  this  house  belongs, 
Who  with  his  soft  pipe  and  smooth-dittied  song. 
Well  knows  to  still  the  wild  winds  when  they  roar, 
And  hush  the  waving  woods." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


113 


Milton  paid  him  another  tribute  of  admiration  in  the 
commendatory  sonnet,  beginning  — 

"  Harry !  whose  tuneful  and  well-measured  song 
First  taught  our  English  music  how  to  span 
Words  with  just  note  and  accent,  not  to  scan 
With  Midas'  ears,  committing  short  and  long. 
Thy  worth  and  skill  exempts  thee  from  the  throng," — 

prefixed,  in  1645,  to  "Choice  Psalms  put  into  Music  for 
Three  Voices,  composed  by  Henry  and  William  Lawes, 
Brothers  and  Servants  to  His  Majesty,"  &c.  This  was 
preceded,  in  1635,  by  "A  Paraphrase  upon  the  Psalms  of 
David.  By  G  [eorge]  S  [andy s] .  Set  to  new  Tunes  for 
private  Devotion.  And  a  thorough  Base  for  Voice  or 
Instrument.  By  Henry  Lawes."  The  songs  in  the  plays 
and  poems  of  Cartwright  were  set  by  Lawes,  and  the 
Christmas  music  in  Herrick's  "  Hesperides."  His  genius 
was  exercised  also  upon  the  lyrics  of  Waller,  who  con- 
trived in  the  following  couplets  to  combine  a  com- 
pliment to  the  composer  with  an  ingenious  touch  of  self- 
laudation  : — 

*'  Let  those  who  only  warble  long, 
And  gargle  in  their  throat  a  song. 
Content  themselves  with  JJt,  Be,  Mi  ; 
Let  words  of  sense  be  set  by  thee.'' 

These  and  other  melodies  will  be  found  in  the  three 
books  of  "  Ayres  and  Dialogues  for  One,  Two,  and  Three 
Voices,"  which  he  published  in  1653,  1655,  and  1658. 
During  the  Commonwealth  period  he  supported  himself 
chiefly  by  his  exertions  as  a  teacher ;  but  he  was  employed 
in  1656  with  Colman,  Hudson,  and  Cooke  in  providing 
music  for  Sir  William  Davenant's  "  First  Day's  Enter- 
tainment of  Music  at  Eutland  House."  At  the  Eestora- 
tion  he  was  reinstated  in  his  various  offices,  and  for  the 
coronation  of  Charles  II.  he  composed  the  anthem  of 
VOL.  I.  I 


114 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


115 


'^Zadok  tlie  Priest."     He  died  on  the  21st  of  October, 
1662,  and  was  buried  in  the    cloisters  of  Westminster 

Abbey. 

In  spite  of  Hawkins,  wlio  criticizes  Ms  music  as  wanting 
in  melody^  as  neither  recitative  nor  air,  *'but  in  so  precise 
a  medium  between  both  that  a  name  is  wanting  for  it  " 
of  Dr.  Burney,  who  finds  his  compositions  languid  and 
insipid,  and  equally  devoid  of  learning  and  genius,  Lawes, 
by  impartial  judges,  will  be  elevated  to  a  high  place  among 
our  early  English  composers.  He  chose  the  best  words  to 
set  to  music,  and  in  setting  them  consulted  carefully  their 
shades  of  meaning,  their  accent,  and  cadence,  always 
anxious  that  the  poet  should  not  be  forgotten  in  the 
musician,  and  writing  always  with  taste  and  feeling. 
Hence  it  was  that  the  best  poets  of  the  age,  as  Fenton 
says,  were  ambitious  of  having  their  verses  composed  by 
this  "  incomparable  artist." 

Lawes  belonged  to  a  musical  family.  His  uncle,  the 
Eev.  Thomas  Lawes,  was  a  vicar-choral  of  Salisbury 
Cathedral.  His  brother  John,  who  died  in  1655  was  a 
lay. vicar  of  Westminster  Abbey ;  while  his  elder  brother, 
William,  killed  by  a  stray  shot  during  the  siege  of 
Chester,  1G45,  almost  rivalled  himself  in  public  estima- 
tion. 

Another  musician  who  flourished  in  the  reigns  of  the 

first  and  second  Charles,  was  Dr.  John  Wilson,  a  native  of 
Faversham,  in  Kent,  whose  extraordinary  skill  as  a 
lutenist  procured  him  the  royal  fiivour  in  a  marked 
degree.  After  the  capture  of  Oxford  by  the  army  of 
the  Parliament  in  1646,  he  found  an  asylum  in  the  family 
of  Sir  William  Waller.  At  the  Kestoration  he  was 
appointed  chamber-musician    to   Charles   II.,   and  sub- 


' 


sequently,  chanter  in  the  Chapel  Eoyal.  He  died  in  1679 
at  the  age  of  78.  Besides  his  published  compositions,  he- 
bequeathed  to  the  University  a  manuscript  volume 
"  curiously  bound  in  blue  Turkey  leather,  with  silver  clasps," 
with  the  injunction  that  it  was  not  to  be  opened  until 
after  his  death.  When  examined,  the  contents  proved  to 
consist  of  musical  settings  of  some  of  the  odes  of  Horace, 
and  of  passages  selected  from  Ausonius,  Claudian,  Pet- 
ronius  Arbiter,  and  Statins. 

Dr.  Benjamin  Eogers    was   born  in  1614  at  Windsor, 
where  his  father  was  a  lay-clerk  in  St.  George's  Chapel. 
He  himself,  in  his  youth,  obtained  a  similar  post,  then 
became  organist  of  Christ  Church,  Dublin ;  but  in  1641  at 
the  opening  of  the  Civil  War,  returned  to  Windsor.     ::^t 
the  breaking  up   of  the   choir   in   1644  he  received,. fin 
annual  allowance  as  some  compensation  for  the  loss  of  his 
appointment,  and  on  this  and  on  his  industry  as  a  teacher 
he  supported  his  family.     He  was  fortunate,  also,  iu  the 
friendship  of  Dr.   Nathaniel   Ingelo,  a  Fellow  of  Eton 
College,   who  recommended  him   to  the    University   of 
Cambridge  ;  where,  in  1658,  pursuant  to  a  mandate  from 
the  Lord  Protector,  he   was  admitted  to  the  degree  of 
Bachelor  of   Music.      When,    at    the   Restoration,   the 
Corporation  of  London  entertained  the  King,  the  Du]j5es 
of  York  and  Gloucester,  and  the  two  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, at  a  grand  Guildhall  banquet,"^  he  composed  for  it 
a  "  Hymnus  Eucharisticus,"  in  four  parts,  to  words  by 
Dr.  Nathaniel  Ingelo.     In  1662  he  regained  his  post  in 

*  "  July  5th.— I  saw  his  Majesty  go  with  as  much  -pomp  and  splendour 
as  any  earthly  prince  could  do  to  the  great  City  feast,  the  tirst  they  liad 
invited  hiui  to  since  his  return  ;  but  the  exceeding  rain  which  fell  all  that 
day  much  eclipsed  its  lustres.  This  was  at  Guildhall,  and  there  was  also 
all  the  Parliament-men,  both  Lords  and  Commons.  The  streets  were 
adorned  with  pageants,  at  immense  cost." — Evelyn. 


I 


116 


THE   MERRY  MONARCH; 


St.  George's  Cliapel,  tis  stipend  being  augmented  by  half 
the  usual  amount,  and  a  consideration  of  twelve  pounds  a 
year  being  paid  liim  for  assisting  as  organist ;  soon  after- 
wards he  was  appointed  organist  of  Eton  College.     These 
employments  he  gave  up  in  July,  1664,  on  accepting  the 
office    of    Informator    Choristarum    and    Organist     of 
Magdalen  College,   Oxford.     In   1669   he  proceeded  to 
the  degree  of  Doctor   of  Music,  on  the  opening  of  the 
new  theatre.     He  continued  to   enjoy   his   position   at 
Oxford  until  1685,  when,  together  with  the  Fellows,  he 
was  rejected  from  Magdalen  by  James  II.,  but  the  Society 
assured  him  a  yearly  pension  of  £30,  which  kept  him  out 
of  the  reach  of  want  until  his  death  in  1698,  at  the  ripe 
old  age  of  84,    Eogers  composed  a  variety  of  sacred  and 
secular  music.     His  Service  in  D  and  some  of  his  anthems 
are  still  popular,  and  the  first  stanza  of  his  "  Hymnus 
Eucharisticus,"  beginning  "  Te  Deura  colimus,"  is  daily 
sung  at  Magdalen  by  way  of  "  grace  after  dinner."     The 
whole  hymn  is  chanted  on  the  top  of  the  College  tower 
every  Sunday  at  five  in  the  morning.     Anthony  Wood 
says  of  this  master  that    "  his  compositions  for  instru- 
mental music,  whether  in  two,  three,  or  four  parts,  have 
been  highly  valued,  and  thirty  years  ago,  or  more,  were 
always  first  called  for,  taken  out  and  played,  as  well  in  the 
public   music   school  as    in   private    chambers  ;  and  Dr. 
Wilson,  the  professor,  the  greatest  and  most  curious  judge 
of  music  that  ever  was,  usually  wept  when  he  heard  them 
well  performed,  as  being  wrapt  up  in  an  ecstasy ;  or,  if 
you  will,  melted  down,  while  others  smiled,  or  had  their 
hands  and  eyes  lifted  up  at  the  excellency  of  them."  Such 
enthusiasm  they  would  fail  to  provoke  in  our  own  day, 
though  we  may  acknowledge  the  sweet  simplicity  of  their 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


117 


melodies,  and  the  "  clearness  and  correctness  "  of  their 

counterpoint. 

Both  as  a  composer  and  an  executant,  John  Jenkins 
claims  respectful  notice.  He  was  born  at  Maidstone  in  1592. 
His  chief  patrons  were  two  Norfolk  cavaliers,  Dering  and 
Hermon  L'Estrange,  and  in  the  family  of  the  latter  he 
resided  during  a  considerable  portion   of  his  life.     On 
the  lute  and  viol  he  performed  with  great  manipulative 
facility,  and  for  the  viol  composed  a  number  of  fantasies, 
which   won    admiration,   not   only   in   England,    but   in 
foreign  countries.     He   also   wrote  some  lighter  pieces, 
which  he   called   "rants,"   and  sonatas    for  the  organ. 
His  vocal  productions   include  rounds,   and  songs,  and 
anthems,  and  a  setting  of  parts  of  "  Theophila ;  or  Love's 
Sacrifice,"   a  sacred  poem   written  by  Edward   Barkam 
(1G51).      In  1660  he  published  "Twelve  Sonatas  for  two 
Yiohns  and  a  Base,  with  a  Thorough  Base  for  the  Organ 
or  Theorbo,"  the  first  of  the  kind  produced  by  an  English 
composer.     During  the  latter   years  of  his   life  Jenkins 
resided  in  the  family  of  Sir  Philip  Wodehouse,  at  Kim- 
berley,  Norfolk,  where  he  died  on  the  27th  of  October, 
1678.     He   is  remembered   by  his    attempt  at  imitative 
music  in  his  "  Five  Bell  Consorte." 

Four  years  after  the  llestoration  died  Dr.  Charles 
Colman,  a  composer  of  some  merit,  who,  during  the 
Commonwealth,  taught  music  in  London,  and  was  uni- 
versally  allowed  to  be  "  a  great  improver  of  the  lyra-way  " 
on  the  viol.  He  was  one  of  the  composers  engaged  by 
Sir  William  Davenant  for  his  Musical  Entertainments 
at  Eutland  House.  Some  of  his  songs  are  given  in  the 
three  editions  of  "  Select  Musicale  Ayres  and  Dialogues," 
1652,  1653,  and  1659,  and  some  of  his  instrumental  com- 


118 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


119 


positions  in  '^  Court  bj  Masquing  Ayres,"    1G62.      He 
died  in  Fetter  Lane,  London,  in  1664. 

In  these  early  times  of  English  Music  an  honoured 
name  is  that  of  Matthew  Lock,  from  whose  brow  we  see 
no  just  reason  to  strip  the  garland  that  belongs  to  the 
composer  of  the  music  for  "  Macbeth."    Lock  was  born  at 
Exeter  about  1630,  and  as  a  chorister  in  the  cathedral 
there   studied  tinder  Edward  Gibbons.      In   partnership 
with   Christopher   Gibbons,   he   composed,  in    1653,  the 
music   for   Shirley's   masque,   ''Cupid   and    Death,"  re- 
presented  before    the   Portuguese  Ambassador.      Three 
years  later,  he  published  his  "Little  Consort  of  Three 
Parts"   for   viols   or   violins,   composed   at  the   request 
of 'his   old   master   and  friend,   William  Wake,   for  his 
scholars.      Such  was  his  eminence  as  a  musician  that  he 
was   commissioned  to  compose  the  music  (for  "  sagbutts 
and  cornets")  for  the  public  prayers  of  Charles  II.  through 
London  (April  22nd,  1661),  from  the  Tower  to  Whitehall; 
and  so  well  did  he  acquit  himself  that  he  received  the 
appointment  of  Composer  in  Ordinary  to  the  King.     He 
composed   several  anthems   for    the   Chapel  Royal,   and 
on  April   12th,    1666,  produced  a  Kyrie  and  Credo,  in 
which  he   provided  each  response  with  different  music, 
an  innovation  that  called  forth  much  hostile  criticism. 
Locke  replied   with   asperity   in    a   preface  to  his  com- 
position,  which   he   entitled    ''Modern   Church   Music; 
Pre-Accused,   Censured,  and    Obstructed  in  its   Perfor- 
mance before   His   Majesty,  Vindicated  by  the  Author, 
Matt.   Lock,   Composer  in  Ordinary    to    His   Majesty." 
Shortly  afterwards,    having,    it  is    said,   embraced  the 
Catholic  religion,  he  was  made  organist  to  the  Queen. 
In  1669,  Lock  had  composed  ''  the  instrumental,  vocal, 


and  recitative  music "  for  Sir  Eobert  Stapylton's  tragi- 
comedy, "  The  Step-mother,"  and  in  1670  he  was  engaged 
to  furnish  the  instrumental  music  for  Dryden  and  Daven- 
ant's  audacious  adaptation  of  «  The  Tempest."  In  1672  he 
wrote  the  music  for  Davenant's  alteration  of  «  Macbeth," 
in  which  were  introduced  the  songs  and  choruses  from 
Middleton's  "Witch."    That  bhe    music  was   Lock's   is 
expressly  stated  by  Downes  in  his  "  Roscius  Anglicanus," 
and  under  his  name  it  was  printed  by  Dr.  Boyce,  about 
1750-1760.       It  has,  however,  been  claimed  for  Purcell, 
on  the  single  ground  that  a  manuscript  score  of  it  exists 
in  his   handwriting;   but   against  this   must  be  set  the 
fact  that  when  the  "  Macbeth "  music    was    produced 
Purcell  was  a  boy  of  thirteen,  and  had  had  no  dramatic 

experience. 

In  1073,  Lock  composed  the  music  (with  the  exception 
of  the  act  tunes  by  Draghi)  for  Shadwell's   « Psyche," 
and  published  it  in  1675,  together  with  the  "Tempest" 
music,  under  the  title  of  "  The   English  Opera."     In  a 
sharply-worded   preface  he   explained  his  views  of  the 
ri^^ht  method  of  operatic  construction,  which  were  based 
evidently    on  his  study   of   Lulli.      About    1672  he  was 
engaged  in  a  singular  controversy  with  Thomas  Salmon, 
of  "Trinity  College,   Oxford,  who,  in  "  An  Essay  to  the 
Advancement   of  Music,"   had  proposed  to  abolish  the 
different  clefs,  and  substitute  the  letter  B  for  the  bass,  M 
for  the  mean  or  tenor  part,  and  Tr  for  the  treble.     Lock 
replied  in  a  style  of  much  vehemence  in  his  "Observations 
upon  a  late  book,   entitled  «  An   Essay,  &c.,"  to  which 
Salmon  rejoined,  with  equal  acrimony  in  his  "Vindication 
of  an   Essay  to  the  Advancement  of  Music,   from  Mr. 
Matthew  Lock's  Observations,   inquiring  into   the  real 


120 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


Nature  and  most  convenient  Practice  of  tliat  Science." 
Lock  terminated  the  controversy  in  1673,  by  liis  "  Present 
Practice   of  Music   Vindicated.  ...  To  wliicli  is  added 

Duellum   Musicum,  by  John  Phillips   [the  nephew  of 

Milton].  Together  with  a  Letter  from  John  Playford 
to  Mr.  T.  Salmon  in  Confutation  of  his  Essay."  Thus 
assailed  by  a  threefold  band  of  critics,  the  unfortunate 
Salmon  wisely  relapsed  into  silence.  His  proposed  innova- 
tion had  nothing  to  recommend  it,  and  has  never  been 
accepted.  Lock,  in  attacking  it,  was  tilting  at  a  wind- 
mill. 

In  1G73  this  industrious,  if  hot-tempered,  musician 
gave  to  the  world  his  "  Melothesia,  or  Certain  General 
Eules  for  Playing  upon  a  Continued  Base,  with  a  Choice 
Collection  of  Lessons  for  the  Harpsichord  or  Organ  of  all 
Sorts  "—the  first  work  of  the  kind  published  in  England. 
And  in  the  same  year  appeared  his  ''  Little  Consort  of 
Four  Parts"  for  viols,  consisting  of  pavan,  ayre,  cornet, 
and  saraband.  He  died  in  1677,  and  Purcell  composed  an 
elegy  on  his  death. 

One  of  the  first  set  of  children  in  the  Chapel  Eoyal, 
after  the  Kestoration,  wasPelham  Humfry,  or  Humphrey. 
He  was  born  in  1647,  and  was  the  nephew,  it  is  said, 
of  Colonel  John  Humphrey,  a  noted  Cromwellian,  and 
President  Bradshaw's  sword-bearer.  His  musical  faculty 
was  displayed  at  a  comparatively  early  age;  for  in 
Clifford's  *' Divine  Services  and  Anthems,"  1663-1,  are 
given  the  words  of  five  anthems,  "  composed  by  Pelham 
Humfrey,  one  of  the  Children  of  His  Majesties  Chappel.'' 
While  still  a  chorister  he  joined  his  companions,  Blow 
and  Turner,  in  composing  as  a  memorial  of  their  common 
friendship  "  The  Club- Anthem,"  the  first  portion  being 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


121 


written  by    Humfry,   the  latter  portion  by   Blow,   and 
Turner  supplying  a  connecting  bass  solo.  In  1664  Charles 
II.  sent   him   abroad  to  study  music,  defraying  his  ex- 
penses,   which  amounted    in   1664-1667   to   £450.      He 
spent   his   time  chiefly   in   Paris,  under   the   illustrious 
Lulli.   In  October,  1667,  he  returned  to  England,  and  was 
sworn  in  as  a  Gentleman  of  the  Chapel  Eoyal  ;  and  in 
July,  1672,  on  the  death  of  Captain  Henry  Cook,  which 
Wood  absurdly  ascribes  to  his  jealousy  of  Humfry,"^  was 
appointed  Master  of  the  Children.     On  the  8th  of  August 
following  he  and  Purcell  were  favoured  with  a  patent  as 
joint  "  Composers   in   Ordinary  for  the  Violins    to   His 
Majesty ; "  but  he  enjoyed  tlie  honour  and  profit  of  these 
offices   only  for  a  couple  of  years,  dying,    at  the   early 
age  of  27,  on  the  14th  of  July,  1674.     In  his  short  life 
Humfry    gave    a    distinct   impulse    to    English    music, 
embodying  in  his   compositions   the  fine  effects  he  had 
learned  under  Lulli.     Some  of  his    anthems  are  still  in 
voo-ue;    and    musicians    are   well   acquainted    with    the 
beauty  of  not  a  few  of  his  songs. 

Pepys,  in  his  Diary,  notes,  under  the  date  of  February 
20th,  1667,  that  "they  talk  how  the  King's  violin, 
Banister,  is  mad,  that  a  Frenchman  [Louis  Grabu]  is 
come  to  be  chief  of  some  part  of  the  King^s  music."  This 
Banister  was  the  son  of  one  of  the  "  waitts  "  of  St.  Giles's- 
in-the-Fields,  London;  was  born  in  1630,  educated  by  his 
father,  and  attained  to  remarkable  facility  of  execution 
as  a  violinist.  His  talent  attracted  the  notice  of  Charles 
IL,  who  sent  him  abroad  to  study,  and  on  his  return  ap- 
pointed him  leader  of  his  private  band.      He  lost  his  post 

*  Wood  says  that  Cook  was  esteemed  "the  best  musician  «f^i;*;°Jf  *^ 
.Bin-  to  the  lute,  till  Pelham  Humfrey,  his  scholar,  c^me  up,  after  which  he 
•died  of  grief." 


122 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  : 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


123 


in  1667  for  asserting,  in  tlie  King's  hearing,  that  the- 
English    violinists    were    superior    to  those   of    France. 
Banister  was  the  founder  of  that  important  institution, 
the  weekly  concert^  and  the  first  musician  who  appealed 
to   the   public   througli  the   medium  of  advertisements. 
Whether  in  either  capacity  he  merits  the  gratitude  of  the 
profession  we  leave  tbe  reader  to  determine.  His  announce- 
ments appeared  in  tlie  London  Gazette,      As  for  example  : 
"  These  are  to  give  notice  that  at  Mr.  John  Banister's 
house,  now  called  the  Musick-School,  over  against  the 
George   Tavern  in  White   Friars,  this  present  Monday, 
will  be  musick  performed  by  excellent  masters,  beginning 
precisely  at  four  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  every 
afternoon   for  the   future,  precisely  at  the  same  hour." 
This  appeared  on  December  30th,  1G72,  and  from  similar 
notices,  occurring   in  a   long   series,   it  is   evident  that 
Banister  carried  on  his  concerts  until  his  labours  were 
terminated  by  his  death  on  the  3rd  of  October,   1679. 
Banister  was  a  sound  musician  :  he  joined  Pelham  Hum- 
fry  in  composing  music  for  "  The  Tempest,"  on  its  revival 
in  1676,  and  in  the  same  year  he  wrote  the'  incidental 
music  for  Charles  Davenant's  tragedy  of  "  Circe." 

Endish  Church  music  owes  not  a  little  to  the  genius  of 
Dr.  John  Blow,  whose  services  and  anthems  exhibit  a 
really  majestic  style  of  treatment.  Severe  critics  find 
fault  with  his  "  crudities,"  and  it  may  be  admitted  that 
his  contrapuntal  arrangements  sometimes  eiT  on  the  side 
of  freedom,  but  in  the  general  elevation  and  excellence  of 
his  work  this  may  be  forgiven.  We  hold  it  discreditable 
to  our  music  publishers  that  so  much  of  his  music  still 
remains  in  manuscript ;  and  are  convinced  that  the  public 
•would  gladly  welcome  a  complete  edition  of  his  composi- 


tions for  the  Church.  Many  of  his  sacred  songs,  duets, 
catches,  organs,  secular  songs,  and  odes  "^  have  been  pub- 
lished, either  separately  or  in  "collections,"  but  some 
seventy  or  eighty  anthems  are  still  in  manuscript.  We 
transcribe  one  of  his  lighter  efforts— a  smooth  and 
graceful  Pastoral  Ballad: — 


Since  the  spring  comes  on,    and    the    teem  -  ing    earth  Gives 


±z 


plants    and  flow'rs  a      kind  -  ly  birth;  Since    all  things  in      one 


-WZi^. 


:;^ 


ga  -  ie  -  ty  and  mirth  com    -    bine. 


J c-»: 


— G> 


i 


John  Blow,  a  native  of  North  Collingham,  in  Notting- 
hamshire, where  he  was  born  in  1648,  was  a  fellow-pupil 
with  Humfry  under  Captain  Cook;  but  he  had  also  the 
advantage  of  being  instructed  by  Hingeston  and  Dr. 
Christopher   Gibbons.     When  a  lad  of  fifteen  he  gave 

*  Such  as  the  "  Ode  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day,"  and  Dryden's  "  Ode  on  the 
Death  of  Furcell." 


ill. 


124 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH: 


evidence  of  his  ability  as  a  composer  :  the  words  of  three 
anthems  composed  by  John  Blow,  "one  of  the  Childrea 
of  His  Majesty's  Chapel,"  appear  in  Clifford's  "  Dmne 
Hymns  and  Anthems,"  16G3,  and  he  joined  Humfry  and 
Turner  in  the  "  Club-Anthem,"  to  which  we  have  already 
referred     In  1673  he  became  one  of  the  gentlemen  of  the 
Chapel,  and  in  the   following  year  succeeded  Humfry  as 
Master  of   the    Children.     He  was  already   organist   ot 
Westminster  Abbey   (16C9),  a  post  which  he  held  until 
1C80,    being    reappointed    in   1695.      His   talents  were 
appreciated    by    Charles    II.,  who  asked    him,   on    one 
occasion,  if  he  could  imitate  Carissimi's  duet    ''  Dite,  o 
Cieli."      Blow  modestly  answered  that  he  would  try ;  ana 
the  result  was  his  fine  song,  "  Go,  perjured  man."      _ 

In  1685  James  II.  appointed  him  one  of  his  private 
musicians,  and  in  1699  he  was  made  "  Composer  to  the 
Kin.^,"   an   office   created  under  the  following   circum- 
stances :-"  After  the  Kevolution,"  says  Hawkins,  "  and 
while    King    William    was    in    Flanders,    the    sumnaer 
residence  of   Queen  Mary  was  at  Hampton  Court.     Vr 
Tillotson  was  then  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  and  the  Reverend 
Mr.  Gostling,   Sub-dean,  and  also    a  gentleman  of   the 
Chapel      The  Dean  would  frequently  take  Mr.  Gostling 
in  his  chariot  thither  to    attend  the  chapel  duty ;   and 
in  one  of  those  journeys,  talking  of  Church-music,   he 
mentioned  it  as  a  common  observation,  that  it  then  tell 
short  of  what  it  had  been  in  the  preceding  reign,  which 
the  Queen  herself  had  noticed.     Gostling  observed  that 
Dr  Blow  and  Mr.  Purcell  were  capable  of  producing,  at 
least,  as  good  anthems  as  most  of  those  which  had  been 
so  much  admired,  which  a  proper  management  would  soon 
prove      This  the  Dean  mentioned  to  her  Majesty,  who 


OE,    ENGLAND    TJUDKR    CHARLES    II. 


125 


profited  by  the  hint,  and,  for  eighty  pounds  per  annum, 
purchased  the  exertions  of  two  of  the  greatest  musical 
composers  that  England  ever  produced.  Their  attendance 
was  limited  to  alternate  months  ;  and,  on  the  first  Sunday 
of  his  month  each  was  required  to  produce  a  new  anthem. 
The  salaries  of  the  Chapel  composers  have  since  been 
augmented  to  £73  each." 

His  great  merits  as  a  musician  were  recognized  by 
Bancroft,  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  who  bestowed  on 
him  the  degree  of  Doctor  of  Music  by  diploma. 

In  1700  Blow  published  a  collection  of  his  songs  (in 
imitation  of  Purcell's    "  Orpheus  Brittannicus  ")    under 
the  title  of  "Amphion  Anglicus,"   containing  composi- 
tions for  one,  two,  three,  and  four  voices,  with  accompani- 
ments of    instrumental    music,    and    a    thorough    base 
figured  for  the  organ,  harpsichord,  or  theorbo-lute.    A 
critic  says  :    "  The  harmony  of  these  polyphonic  songs  is 
pure,  the  contrivance  always  ingenious,  and  the  melody, 
for  the   most  part,    excellent,    the    time    considered    in 
which  it  was  produced;   a   time  when,  in  composition, 
grace  and  eloquence  were  such  scarce  features." 

This  able  and  industrious  musician  died  on  the  1st  of 
October,  1708,  in  the  sixtieth  year  of  his  age.  He  was 
buried  in  Westminster  Abbey,  where  a  monument  is 
erected  to  his  memory.  The  inscription  runs  as  follows  :- 
"  Here  lies  the  body  of  John  Blow,  Doctor  in  Music, 
who  was  organist,  composer,  and  Master  of  the  Children 
of  the  Chapel  Royal  for  the  space  of  33  years,  m  the 
reigns  of  K.  Cha.  2,  K.  Ja.  2,  Z.  Wm.  and  Q.  Mary,  and 
He"  present  Majesty  Q.  Anne,  and  also  organist  of  this 
collegiate  church,  about  15  years.  He  was  scholar  to  the 
excellent  musician.  Dr.  Christopher   Gibbons,  and  master 


126  THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 

Of  the  famous   Mr.   Purcell,  and   most  of  the   eminent 
masters  in  music  since.    He  died  October  1,  1708,  m  the 
60th  year  of   his  age.     His  own  musical  compositions 
especially  his  church  music,  are  a  far  nobler  monument 
to  his  memory  than  any  other." 

Michael  Wise,  another  church  composer  of  eminence, 
.as   a  native   of    Wiltshire.      He   received  his   musical 
education  in  the  Chapel  Eoyal  ;  in  16G8  was  appointed 
master  of  the  choristers  in  Salisbury  Cathedral ;  succeeded 
Eaphael  Cantville,  in  1673,  as  a  gentleman  of  the  Chapel 
Koyal;   and  in  the  following  year  was  preferred  to  the 
post  of  almoner  and  master  of  the  choristers  of  St.  PauFs. 
Charles  II.  esteemed  him  highly,  and  in  a  progress  which 
he  once  made  selected  him  as  one  of  his  suite.    For  a 
time  he   enjoyed  the   exclusive  privilege    of  playing  at 
whatever  church  the  King  visited. 

Besides  several  excellent  anthems,  Wise  composed  a 
number  of  catches,  and  two  or  three  part-songs.  His 
duet,  "  Old  Chiron  thus  sang  to  his  pupil  Achilles,"  was 
long  and  deservedly  popular. 

Our   survey   now  brings  us  to   the    greatest    of    the 
musicians   of  the   Eestoration,   perhaps  the  greatest  of 
English  musicians,  if   we  consider   only  the  question  of 
natural   genius,    and    remember   what  he   accomplished 
when  the  art  was  still  in  a  state  of  imperfect  develop- 
ment-^Henry    Purcell.      The    son    of    Henry,    and  the 
nephew  of  Thomas  Purcell,  both  musicians  and  gentle- 
men  of  the    Chapel  Koyal,  he  was  born  in  1658.     His 
father  died  when  he  was  only  six  years  old.    He  seems 
to  have  received  his  early  education  under  Captain  John 
Cook,  but  completed  his  studies  under  an  abler  master. 
Dr.  Blow.    However   great  his  endowments   by  nature. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


127 


he  owed   much    to    his    persistency   of  application    and 
fixity   of  purpose,   which  were  inspired    by   an  earnest 
ambition.    While  a  boy  he  produced  several  anthems,  full 
of  high  promise  of  future  excellence  ;  and  it  is  a  remark- 
able testimony  to  his  precocious  powers  and  their  sedulous 
cultivation  that,  in  1676,  at  the  age  of  eighteen,  he  was 
appointed  organist  of  Westminster  Abbey.     In  the  pre- 
vious year  he  had  been  commissioned  by  Josiah  Priest, 
who   reminds   us    of    Colman's   three   single   gentlemen 
rolled  into  one,  being  a  fashionable   dancing-master,   a 
composer  of  stage  dances,  and  master  of  "  a  boarding- 
school  for  young  gentlemen "   in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  to 
supply  the  music  for  a  little  drama,  by  Nahum  Tate,  en- 
titled "  Dido  and  ^neas,"  intended  for  representation  by 
his  pupils.    This  task  ho  executed  with  so  much  liveliness 
of    fancy  and   fertility   of  invention— especially  in   the 
spirited  chorus,   "To  the  hills  and  the  vales"— that  the 
attention  of  theatrical  managers  was  drawn  to  the  rising 
genius;   and  in  1676  he  composed  the  music  for  Dryden's 
tragedy   of   '' Aureug-Zebe,"   and  Shad  well's  comedy  of 
"  Epsom    Wells."      To    Shadwell's    tragedy    of     "  The 
Libertine  "  he  contributed  part  of  the  music,  including 
the   beautiful   air   "Nymphs  and    Shepherds,"   and  the 
chorus,    "In  those   delightful  pleasant   groves."     With 
indefatigable  energy  and  inexhaustible  wealth  of  resource, 
he  provided,  in  1677,  the  overture,  instrumental  music, 
and  vocal  melodies  for  Aphra  Behn's  "  Abdelazor,"  and 
composed  an  elegy  on  the  death  of  Matthew  Lock.     The 
variety  and  freshness  of  his  melodic  powers  are  seen  to 
great  advantage  in  the  music  to  the  masque  in  Shadwell's 
adaptation  of   '^  Timon   of   Athens,"   produced  in  1678. 
Bringing  together  all  his  compositions  for  the  stage,  we 


228  THE   MEEEY    MONARCH  ; 

find  that,  in  1680,  lie  wrote  the  music  for  Nathaniel  Lee's 
"Theodosius;"  and  the  overture  and  entr'acte  music  for 
D'Urfey's  "Virtuous  Wife  ;»  in  1686  (after  an  interval  of 
six  years,  devoted  chiefly  to  church  and  chamber  music, 
in  which  his  versatile  genius  was  equally  successful),  the 
music  including  the  fine  air,    "  Ah,  how  sweet  it  is  to 
love!"    for  Dryden's    "Tyrannic  Love;"   in  1688,  the 
son-s  for  Mountford,  the  actor,  in  D'Urfey's  comedy,  "  A 
Fool's  Preferment;"    in   1690,  the   glorious   music  for 
Shadwell's  version  of  «  The  Tempest,"   so  fluent  in  its 
strength,  so  rich  and  varied  in  its  melody,  that  to  this 
day  it  remains  unsurpassed  ;*   and  in  the  same  year  for 
Betterton's  adaptation  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  The 
Prophetess ;  or  the  History  of  Dioclesian,"   which  con- 
tains the  tenderly  beautiful  air,   "  What  shall  I  do  to 
show  how  much  I  love  her  ?  "  and  the  bold  and  strenuous 
«  Sound,  Fame,  thy  brazen  trumpet."    In  his  preface  to 
this    "opera,"    published   by   subscription  in   1691,  he 
indicates  his   view   of   the   then  position  of  the  art  in 
England,  and  his  belief    in   its   future  expansion  and 

elevation. 

«  Music  and  Poetry,"  lie  says,  "  have  ever  been  acknow- 
ledged sisters,  wliich,  walking  hand  in  hand,  support  each 
other ;  as  Poetry  is  the  harmony  of  words  so  Music  is  that 
of  notes  ;  and  as  Poetry  is  a  rise  above  Prose  and  Oratory, 
so  is  Music  the  exaltation  of  Poetry.  Both  of  them  may 
excel  apart,  but  surely  they  are  most  excellent  when  they  are 
joined,  because  nothing  is  then  wanting  to  either  of  their 
proportions  ;  for  thus  they  appear  like  wit  and  beauty  in 
the  same  person.   Poetry  and  Painting  have  arrived  to  per- 

*  What  can  excel  the  beauty  of  Ariel's  flowing  and  quaintly  rhythmical 
air,  "  Come  unto  these  yellow  sands'  ? 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


129 


fection  in  our  own  country ;  Music  is  yet  but  in  its  nonage 
a  forward  child,  which  gives  hope  of  what  it  may  be  here- 
after in  England  when  the  masters  of  it  shall  find  more 
encouragement.  'Tis  now  learning  Itahan,  which  is  its 
best  master,  and  studying  a  little  of  the  French  air,  to 
give  it  somewhat  more  of  gaiety  and  fashion.  Thus  being 
further  from  the  sun  we  are  of  later  growth  than  our 
neio-hbour  countries,  and  must  be  content  to  shake  off  our 
barbarity  by  degrees.  The  present  age  seems  already  dis- 
posed to  be  refined,  and  to  distinguish  between  wild  fancy 
and  a  just,  numerous  composition." 

In  1690  Purcell  composed^  his  great  work,  ''King 
Arthur,"  which  may  rightly  be  designated  the  first  com- 
plete English  opera.  The  drama,  by  Dryden,  was  evidently 
constructed  with  a  view  to  the  musician's  requirements, 
and  supplies  that  variety  in  the  measure  and  that  interest 
in  the  scenes  which  are  essential  to  musical  effect.  It 
should  not  be  overlooked  that  the  music  is  not  only 
original,  vigorous,  various,  and  beautiful,  but  imbued 
with  a  fine  spirit  of  patriotism,  as  if  the  composer's  genius 
had  been  specially  inspired  by  association  with  the  story 
of  England's  legendary  hero.  Two  of  the  choicest  num- 
bers are  the  grand  war-song  of  the  Britons,  "  Come  if  you 
dare,"  and  the  lively  lyric  in  praise  of  the  fatherland, 
"  Fairest  isle,  all  isles  excelling."  The  resources  of  the 
master  are  exhibited  triumphantly  in  the  sacrificial  scene 
of  the  Saxons,  the  scene  with  the  spirits,  the  choric  dances 
and  songs  of  the  shepherds,  the  frost  scene,  the  duet  of  the 
Syrens,  and  the  concluding  masque.     By  this  one  com- 

*  In  1690  his  work  for  the  theatre  was  confined  to  overture,  act-tunes  and 
songs  for  Dryden's  comedy  of  "  Amphitryon,"  and  the  bass  solo,  "  Thy 
genius,  lo,  from  his  sweet  bed  of  rest,"  in  Nat.  Lee's  "  The  Massacre  in. 
Paris." 

VOL,    I.  K 


130 


THE    MEREY   MONARCH  ; 


position  Parcell  lias  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  English 
musicians;  and  we  can  imagine  what  he  would  have 
accomplished  had  he  known  the  combinations  and  con- 
trasts of  which  the  modern  orchestra  is  capable. 

Yet  this  noble  work  did  not  satisfy  the  activity  of  his 
genius  in  1691.  He  also  wrote  the  overture  and  act-tunes 
for  Elkanah  Settle's  tragedies,  "  Distressed  Innocence," 
and  "  The  Gordian  Knot  Untied,"  and  some  songs  for 
Southerners  comedy,  "  Sir  Anthony  Love." 

In  the  year  1692  he  composed  the  music  for  Sir  Robert 
Howard  and  Dryden's  "The  Indian  Queen,"  including 
the  masterly  recitative,  "  Ye  twice  ten  hundred  deities," 
the  air,  "  By  the  croaking  of  the  toad,"  and  the  charming 
rondo,  "I  attempt  from  Love's  sickness  to  fly."  Also 
songs  for  Dryden's  "  Indian  Emperor,"  and  "  Cleomenes  " 
(which  Southerne  finished).  Dry  den  and  Lee's  '' (Edi- 
pus,"  Southerne's  comedy,  "The  Wife's  Excuse,"  and 
D'Urfey's  comedy,  "  The  Marriage  State  Matched ; "  and 
further,  the  opera  of  "  The  Faiiy  Queen  "  (adapted  from 
Shakespeare's  "Midsummer  Night's  Dream"),  which 
seems  to  have  been  put  upon  the  stage  in  a  very  costly  and 
brilliant  manner.  It  is  unfortunate  that  a  considerable 
portion  of  the  score  has  been  lost;  but  some  of  the 
numbers  were  printed  in  the  "  Orpheus  Britannicus,"  and 
others  separately. 

In  1693  Purcell  composed  the  music  for  Congreve's 
comedy,  "  The  Old  Bachelor,"  D'Urfey's  "  The  Eichmond 
Heiress,"  Southerne's  "The  Maid's  Last  Prayer,"  and 
Bancroft's  tragedy,  "  Henry  the  Second ;  "  in  1 694,  por- 
tions of  the  music  for  Parts  1  and  2  of  D'Urfey's  "  Don 
Quixote,"  songs  for  Southerne's  tragedy,  "The  Fatal 
Marriage/'  Dryden's  play  of   "Love  Triumphant,"  and 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


131 


Crowne's  comedy,  "  The  Married  Beau ;  "  and  the  over- 
ture, act-tunes  and  songs  for  Congrove's  "Double  Dealer." 
The  famous  war-song,  "Britons,  strike  home,"  and  the 
four-part  chorus,  "  To  arms,"  were  among  the  gems  with 
which,  in  1695,  he  enriched  Purcell's  adaptation  of  Beau- 
mont and  Fletcher's  "  Boadicea."  In  the  same  year  he 
composed  songs  for  Southerne's  tragedy,  "  Oroonoko," 
Ravenscroft's  comedy,  "  The  Canterbury  Guests,"  Gould's 
tragedy,  "The  Rival  Sisters,"  Scott's  comedy,  "The 
Mock  Marriage,"  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  play,  "The 
Knight  of  Malta,"  and  the  third  part  of  D'Urfey's  "  Don 
Quixote."  The  "Don  Quixote"  contains  Purcell's  swan- 
song,  his  last  composition,  "From  rosy  hours,"  which, 
though  written  in  his  dying  hours,  presents  no  trace  of 
weakness  or  decay. 

From  this  review  of  his  dramatic  compositions  we  pro- 
ceed to  a  survey  of  what  he  accomplished  in  church  and 
chamber  music.  Perhaps  it  is  in  the  service  of  the 
temple  that  his  genius  is  most  fully  developed.*  Certain 
it  is  that  his  church  music  is  characterized  by  a  wonderful 
power  of  devotion  and  solemnity  of  feeling.  Exact  and  well- 
defined  in  its  scientific  development,  it  attains,  by  the  rich- 
ness of  its  harmonic  combinations  and  the  purity  of  its 
melodic  strains,  a  strength  and  fulness  of  efiect  which 
every  heart  acknowledges.  Let  us  glance  at  a  few  of  his 
more  memorable  compositions.  There  is  the  anthem  for 
six  voices  :  "  Oh  God,  Thou  hast  cast  us  out,'^  with  its 
felicitous  "commixture  of  spirit,  sweetness,  and  elaborated 
counterpoint ;"  the  anthem  for  bass  solo  and  chorus, 
"  The  Lord  is  King ;  "  the  coronation  anthems  for  James 

*  The  reader  is  advised  to  study  Vincent  Novello's  edition  (1829-1832) 
of  "  Purcell's  Sacred  Music,"  if  he  would  understand  the  full  scope  and 
chaiacter  of  the  composer's  powers. 


132 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


133 


n.,  and  his  Queen  '^I  was  glad/^  and  "Mj  heart  is  in- 
diting ;"  the  anthem,  "  They  that  go  down  to  the  sea  in 
ships/'  composed  on  the  occasion  of  the  King^s  narrow 
escape  from  a  great  storm  when  at  sea  in  the  Fubbs  yacht, 
and  remarkable  for  its  expression  of  the  mingled  sensa- 
tion of  awe,  agitation,  wonder,  and  thanksgiving ;  and  the 
noble  and  majestic  eight-part  anthem,  "  0  Lord  God  of 
hosts  !  "  The  anthem  for  four  voices,  with  instrumental 
accompaniments,  '*  Blessed  are  they  that  fear  the  Lord," 
was  produced  on  the  29th  of  January,  1687,  as  a  thanks- 
giving for  the  pregnancy  of  the  Queen,  Mary  of  Modena. 

To  enumerate  all  his  anthems,  or  services,  or  settings 
of  the  Jubilate  and  Be^iedidus,  would  be  unprofitable. 
Something  must  be  said,  however,  respecting  his  fa- 
mous Te  Deum  and  Jubilate  in  D,  with  orchestral 
accompaniments,  the  first  of  the  kind  composed  in 
England,  which  he  wrote  for  the  Cecilian  celebration  in 
1694.  "In  this  composition,'^  says  Busby,  "  the  science 
and  genius  of  a  great  and  superior  master  are  conspicu- 
ously displayed.  To  hear  the  chorus,  *  All,  all  the  earth, 
Lord,  worship  Thee,  the  Father  Everlasting,'  is  to  feel  the 
utmost  richness  of  sonorous  combination,  and  to  be  im- 
pressed with  the  fullest  sense  of  devotional  duty.  The 
duet,  given  to  the  Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  broken  and 
thundered  upon  by  the  chorus,  with  the  awfully  impressive 
word,  '  Holy,'  is  divinely  conceived ;  and  both  the  har- 
mony and  the  melody  of  '  Also  the  Holy  Ghost  the  Com- 
forter,' exhibit  Purcell  as  a  musician  inspired.  In  the 
double  fugue  of  '  Thou  art  the  King  of  Glory,'  the  noble 
and  elevated  feelings  of  the  author  are  expressed  with  a 
degree  of  science  and  decision  which  manifest  the  con- 
trivance of  a  real  and  great  master,  animated  and  em- 


boldened  by  the  divine  majesty  of  the  object  before  him. 
From  the  words,  '  Thou  sittest  at  the  right  hand  of  God,' 
to  '  ever  world  without  end,'  we  find  in  the  music  a  con- 
tinued and  unremitting  echo  to  the  sense  of  the  language, 
and  are  everywhere  reminded  of  the  import  and  the  gran- 
deur of  the  subject  treated." 

This  noble  and  majestic  masterpiece  was  composed  for 
the  Cecilian  festival  of  the  Sons  of  the  Clergy,  and  was  per- 
formed every  year  until  the  production  of  Handel's  Te 
Deum,  in  1713,  for  the  peace  of  Utrecht.  Thenceforward, 
until  1743,  they  were  alternately  used.  In  1743  Handel 
composed  his  Dettingen  Te  Deum,  to  which  his  know- 
ledge of  the  powers  and  combinations  of  the  instruments 
of  the  orchestra  enabled  him  to  give  such  a  colossal 
character  that  it  has,  to  a  great  extent,  superseded 
Purcell's  beautiful  composition.  Why  does  not  some 
English  musician  arrange  the  latter  with  orchestral  ac- 
companiments in  the  modern  fashion  ? 

To  present  a  brief  chronological  resume:^ 
The  first  of  Purcell's  numerous  odes,  a  form  of  com- 
position in  which  he  seems  to  have  taken  much  delight, 
appeared  in  1680—"  An  Ode   or  Welcome  Song  for  his 
Koyal  Highness  (the  Duke  of  York)  on  his  return  from 
Scotland."     In  1681  he  wrote  another  Ode  or  Welcome 
Song  for  the  King,  "  Swifter,  Isis,  swifter  flow ; "  and  in 
1682,  one  on  the  King's  return  from  Newmarket,  "  The 
summer's  absence  unconcerned  we  bear."     He  also  wrote 
some   inauguration  songs   for  the   Lord  Mayor,  October 
29th.     In    1683    he   essayed  a  new  branch  of  composi- 
tion,  instrumental    chamber   music,   and   published  his 
twelve  "  Sonnata  s  of  III.  parts,  two  Yiollins  and  Basse  to 
the  Organ  or  Harpsichord."     Each  consists  of  an  adagio. 


134 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


fugue,  slow  movement,  and  air.  In  his  preface  Purcell 
states  that  he  has  aimed  at  a  just  imitation  of  the  most 
famed  Italian  masters,  "  principally  to  bring,"  he  says, 
"the  seriousness  and  gravity  of  that  sort  of  music  into 
vogue  and  reputation  among  our  countrymen,  whose 
humour  'tis  time  now  should  begin  to  loath  the  levity 
and  balladry  of  our  neighbours."  The  attempt  he  con- 
fesses to  be  bold  and  daring;  there  being  pens  and 
artists  of  more  eminent  abilities,  much  better  qualified 
for  the  employment  than  his  or  himself,  which  he  well 
hopes  these  his  weak  endeavours  will  in  due  time  provoke 
and  influence  to  a  more  accurate  undertaking.  He  is 
not  ashamed  to  own  his  unskilfulness  in  the  Italian 
language,  but  that  is  the  unhappiness  of  his  education, 
which  cannot  justly  be  counted  his  fault ;  however,  he 
thinks  he  may  warrantably  affirm  that  he  is  not  mistaken 
in  the  power  of  the  Italian  notes,  or  elegancy  of  their 
composition. 

In  the  same  year  (1683)  he  produced  another  Ode  for 
the  King,  "Fly,  bold  Eebellion,"  and  one  Ode,  "From 
hardy  climes,"  in  celebration  of  the  marriage  of  Prince 
George  of  Denmark  to  the  Princess  Anne.  Also,  a  St. 
Cecilia's  Day  Ode,  "  Welcome  to  all  the  pleasures." 

In  1684  he  composed  an  Ode,  the  last  he  was  to  lay  at 
the  feet  of  Charles  II.,  on  the  King's  return  to  White- 
hall after  his  Summer's  Progress — ^'From  those  serene 
and  rapturous  joys.'^ 

"  Why  are  all  the  Muses  mute  ? "  was  the  title  of 
the  Ode  or  Welcome  Song  which  he  addressed  to  James 
II.  in  1685.     "Ye  tuneful  Muses  "  was  produced  in  1686. 

In  1687  he  composed  another  Ode,  "Sound  the 
trumpet,  beat  the  drum,"  in  which  occurs  the  duet  for 


I 
I 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


135 


altos,  "Let  Csesar  and  Urania  live."  This  enjoyed  so 
extensive  a  popularity  that  succeeding  composers  of 
Eoyal  Birthday  Odes  were  wont  to  introduce  it  into  their 
own  productions  until  late  into  the  18th  century. 

In    1688   he    composed  his    last  Welcome    Song  for 
James  II.,  and  in  1689,  an  Ode,  "  Celestial  Music,"  and 
a  "  Welcome  Song  at  the  Prince  of  Denmark's  Coming 
Home."     In  this  year  he  wrote  the  celebrated   "  York- 
shire  Feast   Song"    in    praise    of   the    county  and  its 
worthies,  for  the  annual  gathering   in  London  of  natives 
of  Yorkshire— one  of  his  most  vigorous  and  varied  com- 
positions.    It  was   performed  at  an  expense  of  £100  at 
the   annual  Feast  held  in  Merchant  Taylor's  Hall,   on 
the   27th  of  March,    1690.    In   this  year  a  sharp  con- 
tention arose  between  the  composer  and  the  Dean  and 
Chapter  of  the  Abbey.     Purcell,    considering  the   organ 
loft  as  his  pecuUum,  in  virtue  of  his  office,  had  received 
the   admission  fees   of  persons  desirous   of  viewing  the 
coronation  of  William  and  Mary.   The  Dean  and  Chapter 
claimed  them,  and  when  Purcell  refused  to  acknowledge 
the   claim,   made   an  order   that  unless  he  handed  over 
the  moneys   his    place  should   be  declared  vacant,   and 
his  salary  detained  by  the  Treasurer.      As  he  held  his 
appointment,  however,  until  his  death,  we  may  assume 
that  the  dispute  was  amicably  arranged. 

In  1690  the  inexhaustible  genius  of  Purcell  produced  a 
Birthday  Ode  for  the  Queen,  "Arise,  my  Muse,"  and 
an  ode  for  King  William,  "  Sound  the  trumpet."  Another 
Birthday  Ode  for  the  Queen,  "Welcome,  glorious  Morn  " 
appeared  in  1691.  A  curious  anecdote  is  related  of  the 
one  which  he  composed  in  the  following  year  to  Sir 
Charles  Sedley's  words,  "  Love's  Goddess  sure  was  blind." 


i 


»■   ■■  !■■■ 


136 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


The  bass  to  one  of  its  airs,  "May  her  blest  example 
chase,"  is  simplj  the  tenor  of  the  old  song,  "  Cold  and 
raw."  It  seems  that  Queen  Mary  one  day  was  entertained 
by  the  singing  of  Gostling  and  Mistress  Arabella  Hunt, 
with  Parcell  as  accompanist.  After  they  had  sung  some 
admirable  songs  by  Purcell  and  others.  Queen  Mary 
asked  Arabella  Hunt  for  the  ballad  of  "  Cold  and  raw." 
In  his  indignation  that  the  Queen  should  prefer  a 
common  ballad  to  his  own  excellent  compositions,  Purcell 
resolved  that  she  should  hear  it  again  when  she  little 
expected  it,  and  accordingly  introduced  it,  as  we  have 
seen,  into  the  Birthday  Ode. 

In  the  same  year  he  set  to  music  Dr.  Brady's  Ode, 
"Hail,  great  Cecilia,"  which  was  performed  at  the 
annual  celebration  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day,*  the  composer 
himself  singing  the  alto  solo,  "  ^Tis  Nature's  voice."  In 
1693  he  set  Nahum  Tate's  Ode  for  the  Queen's  birthday, 
"  Celebrate  this  festival ;  "  and  the  same  versifier's  Ode 
commemorative  of  the  centenary  of  Trinity  College, 
Dublin.  In  1694  he  wrote  another  Birthday  Ode  for 
the  Queen,  "  Come,  come,  ye  Sons  of  Art ! "  and  at  the 
close  of  the  year  composed  for  her  funeral  the  anthem, 
"Thou  knowest.  Lord,  the  secrets  of  our  hearts,"  in 
so  deeply  impressive  and  majestic  a  style  that  Dr.  Croft, 
when  he  set  the  funeral  service,  wisely  refrained  from 
resetting  this  passage,  and  adopted  Purcell's  music. 
Purcell  also  wrote  for  this  occasion  his  anthem,  "  Blessed 

*  These  annual  concerta  were  established  in  1683  by  "The  Musical 
Society,"  whose  members  on  St.  Cecilia's  Day  (Nov.  22nd)  first  attended 
choral  service  at  St.  Bride's  Church,  and  afterwards  at  the  concert  (generally 
given  in  Stationer's  Hall),  where  an  ode  in  praise  of  music  was  always  the 
piice  de  resistance.  For  these  occasions  Dryden  wrote  his  famous  Odes  in 
1687  and  1697. 


OR,    ENGLAND    XTNDEK    CHARLES    II. 


137 


is  the  man  ;  "  and  early  in  the  following  year  composed 
two  elegies  on  the  Queen^s  death. 

Irregularities  of  living,  and,  doubtless,  the  excessive 
mental  labour  of  which  the  foregoing  list  affords  so  signal 
an  illustration,  shattered  the  composer's  constitution  while 
he  was  still  in  the  prime  of  manhood';  and,  to  the  great  loss 
of  English  music,  he  died  of  some  lingering  disease,  prob- 
ably consumption,  at  his  house  in  Dean's  Yard,  West- 
minster, on  the  21st  of  November,  1695,  aged  37."^  He 
was  buried  in  Westminster  Abbey.  On  a  tablet  affixed 
to  a  pillar  is  the  following  well-known  inscription, 
ascribed,  though  on  doubtful  evidence,  to  Dryden : — 

"  Here  lyes 
Henry  Purcell,  Esq., 
Who  left  this  life, 
And  is  gone  to  that  blessed  place, 
Where  only  his  harmony  can  be  exceeded. 
Obiit.  21  mo  die  Novembris, 
Anno  ^tatis  suas,  37™°' 
Annuq ;  Domini,  1695." 

On  a  flat  stone  over  his  grave  was  inscribed  the  following 
epitaph,  renewed,  a  few  years  ago,  through  the  agency  of 
Turle,  then  organist  of  the  Abbey : — 

**  Plandite,  felices  snperi,  tanto  hospite  ;  nostris, 
Praefuerat,  vestris  additur  ille  choris  : 
Invidia  nee  vobis  Purcellum  terra  reposcat, 

Questa  decus  secli,  deliciasqne  breves. 
Turn  cito  decessisse,  modos  cui  singula  debit 

Mnsa,  prophana  snos  religiosa  sues. 
Vivit  lo  et  vivat,  dum  vicina  organa  spirant, 
Damque  colet  nnmeris  tnrba  canora  Deum." 


*  The  old  story  that  his  fatal  illness  was  due  to  a  cold,  caught  one  night 
when  his  wife  kept  him  waiting  outside  his  own  door,  in  punishment  for 
his  late  hours,  may  be  dismissed  as  without  foundation.  By  his  will  he  be- 
queathed his  whole  property  to  his  "  loving  wife,"  and  appointed  her  sole 
executrix. 


I 


138 


THE  MERKY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


139 


Which  has  been  thus  Englished: — 

"  Applaud  so  great  a  gaest,  celestial  Powers  ! 
Who  now  resides  with  you,  but  once  was  ours ; 
Yet  let  invidious  earth  no  more  reclaim 
Her  short-liv'd  fav'rito  and  her  chiefest  fame ; 
Complaining  that  so  prematurely  dy'd, 
Good-nature's  pleasure  and  devotion's  pride. 
Dy'd  ?  no,  he  lives  while  yonder  organs  sound. 
And  sacred  echoes  to  tho  choir  rebound.*' 

The  finest  tribute  to  the  great  musician's  memory  is  the 
sonorous  verse  of  Dry  den  (set  to  music  by  Dr.  Blow),  in 
which  he  speaks  of  him  as  "  the  godlike  man,"  and 
adds : — 

"  The  heavenly  choir,  who  heard  hia  notes  from  high, 
Let  down  the  scale  of  music  from  the  sky  ; 

They  handed  him  along, 
And  all  the  way  he  taught,  and  all  tho  way  they  sung, 
Ye  brethren  of  the  lyre,  and  tuneful  voice, 
Lament  his  lot,  but  at  your  own  rejoice  ; 
Now  live  secure,  and  linger  out  your  days ; 
The  gods  are  pleased  alone  with  Purcell's  lays. 
Nor  know  to  mend  their  choice." 

Elsewhere  the  poet  writes : — 

"  Sometimes  a  hero  in  an  age  appears, 
But  scarce  a  Purcell  in  a  thousand  years." 

One  or  two  anecdotes  of  the  composer  may  here  be  in- 
troduced. According  to  Sir  John  Hawkins,  he  had  a 
strong  dislike  to  the  tones  of  the  viol  da  gamba,  on 
which  his  friend,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sub-dean  Gostling,  was 
an  enthusiastic  performer.  '''The  composer,  to  gratify- 
some  little  pique,  engaged  a  certain  poetaster  to  write 
the  following  mock  eulogium  on  the  viol,  which  he  set  in 
the  form  of  a  round,  for  three  voices  :— 

"  Of  all  the  instruments  that  are, 
None  with  the  viol  can  compare; 
Mark  how  the  strings  their  order  keep, 
With  a  whet,  whet,  whet,  and  a  sweep,  sweep,  sweep, 
But  above  all  this  abounds, 
With  a  zingle,  zingle,  zing,  and  a  zit,  zan,  zounds." 


It  is  said  that  Dryden  wrote  his  Ode  of  "  Alexander's 
Feast"  with  a  view  to  its  musical  illustration  by  the 
genius  of  his  friend;  but  for  some  unexplained  reason 
Purcell  declined  the  task. 

Of  his  skill  as  an  organist  little  is  now  known;  but 
that  it  was  highly  esteemed  we  infer  from  the  curious 
rebus,  in  rhyming  Latin,  written  by  Tomlinson,  a  trans- 
lation of  which  was  set  to  music  by  one  Lenton,*  in  the 
form  of  a  catch  : — 

"  Galli  marita,  par  tritico  seges, 
Prajnomen  est  ejus,  dat  chromati  leges ; 
Intrat  cognomen  blanditiis  Cati, 
Exit  eremi  in  jEdibus  stati, 
Expertum  effectum  omnes  admirentur. 
Quid  merent  PoetiB  ?  ut  bene  calcentur." 

The  translation,  as  set  by  Lenton  ran  thus  :— 

"  A  mate  to  a  cock,  and  corn  tall  as  wheat, 
Is  his  Christian  name  who  in  music's  complete ; 
His  surname  begins  with  the  grace  of  a  cat, 
And  concludes  with  the  house  of  a  hermit;  note  that. 
His  skill  and  performance  each  auditor  wins, 
But  the  poet  deserves  a  good  kick  on  the  shins." 

PurcelFs  widow,  in  1698,  with  the  aid  of  a  liberal  sub- 
scription, reared  an  endearing  monument  to  her  husband's 
memory  in  the  Orpheus  Britannicus,  a  collection  of  his 
vocal  compositions,  to  which  a  second  volume  was  added 
in  1702,  and  a  third  in  1705.  It  was  dedicated  to  that 
able  and  accomplished  statesman,  Charles  Montague, 
Lord  Halifax,  and  contains  songs  from  "The  Fairy 
Queen,''  and  "  The  Indian  Queen,"  the  Birthday  Odes, 
that  noble  song,  ''  Genius  of  England,"  and  numerous 
other  occasional  productions.  "  The  Genius  of  England  " 
has  an  accompaniment  for  a  trumpet,  and  it  may  here  be 

*  John  Lenton  was  a  member  of  the  private  band  of  King  William  and 
Queen  Anne;  he  wrote  the  overtures  and  act-tunes  to  several  plays;  and, 
in  1702,  published  *'  The  Useful  Instructor  on  the  Violin." 


140 


THE    MEREY   MONAECH. 


noted  that  Purcell  was  the  first  English  musician  who 
wrote  songs  with  symphonies  and  accompaniments  for 
that  instrument. 

Among  the  most  popuhxr  and  successful  of  PurcelPs 
compositions  for  the  voice  may  be  named  :  "Come,  if  you 
dare!"  "Fairest  isle,  all  isles  excelling/'   "Come  unto 
these  yellow   sands/'  "Celia  has  a  thousand  charms/' 
"Ye   twice  ten  hundred  deities/'    "Tell   me   why,  my 
charming  fair?"    "Mad  Bess/'    "Blow,  Boreas,  blow," 
"  Thus  the  gloomy  world,"  "  May  the  god  of  wit  inspire/' 
"  Two  daughters  of  this  aged  stream,"  "  I  attempt  from 
love's    sickness    to   fly,"    "Let   the   dreadful    engines," 
"  Crown  the  altar/'    "  Ah  !   cruel  nymph,"  "  From  rosy 
bowers,"  "I'll  sail  upon  the  Day-star,"  "Lost  is  my  quiet," 
"When    Mira  sings,"    "Celebrate    this   festival,"   and 
"  What  shall  I  do  to  show  how  much  I  love  her  ?  "     In 
most  of  these  the  words  are  admirably  expressed;  the 
melody  and  modulation   always   aim  at  more  than  the 
gratification  of  the  external  sense,  are  uniformly  impreg- 
nated with  sentiment,  and  never  fail  to  be  either  elegant, 
or  pathetic,  or  both.     Whenever  the  subject  demands  fire 
and  animation,  his  native   spirit   bursts  forth   with   an 
energy,  and  kindles  to  a  glow,  that  no  apathy  in  the 
hearer  can  resist.     In  his  duets  and  trios  we  find  a  con- 
texture and  contrivance  in  the  ]parts  only  conceivable  by 
real  genius,  and  not  to  be  fabricated,  or  accomplished, 
but  by  profound  science. 


DEAMATIC   AUTHOES. 


Aeeowsmith. 
Banks. 
Bancroft. 
Betterton. 

Buckingham,  Duke  of 
Beome. 

Lord  Beoghill. 
Lucius  Caey,   Lord   Falk- 
land. 
Caeyll. 

COEYE. 

Cowley. 

Ceowne,  John. 

Davenant. 

Deyden. 

D'Urfey. 

Etherege,  Sie  George. 

Fane. 

Edward  Howaed. 

James  Howaed. 

Sir  Egbert  Howard. 

Xilligrew. 


Lacy. 

Lee,  Nat. 

Leonard. 

Maidwell. 

Medbouene. 

Newcastle,  Duke  op 

Otway. 

Payne. 

Portee  and  Pordage. 

Eawlins. 

Eevet. 

Ry3IEE. 

Saundees. 

Settle. 

Shadwell. 

Shirley. 

Southern. 

Stapleton,  Sie  E. 

Tate. 

TUKE. 

Wycherley. 
Behn,  Mrs.  Afhra. 


i 


CHAPTEE   III. 


DRAMATIC   AUTHORS   IN   THE    REIGN   OF   CHARLES   II. 


Arrowsmith — Banks — ^Bancroft — Betterton — Bucking- 
ham, Duke  of — Brome — Lord  Broghill — Lucius 
Gary,    Lord    Falkland — Caryll — Corye — Cowley 

— Crowne,  John — Davenant — Dryden  — D'Urfey 

Etherege,  Sir  George — Fane — Edward  Howard 

James  Howard — Sir  Robert  Howard — Killigrew 

Lee,  Nat  —  Lacy  —  Leonard  —  Maid  well  —  Med- 
BOURNE—  Newcastle,  Duke  of — Otway — Payne — 
Porter  and  Pordage — Rawlins — Revet — Rymer — 
Saunders — Settle — Shadwell — Shirley — Southern 
— Stapleton^  Sir  R. — Tate— Tuke— Wycherley — 
Behn,  Mrs.  Aphra. 

At  the  sixty  or  seventy  Dramatic  Authors  who  contri- 
buted to  the  English  Stage  between  1660  and  1685  we 
purpose  to  glance  in  alphabetical  order :  an  arrangement 
which  has  at  least  the  merit  of  simplicity,  and  will  pro- 
bably prove  more  convenient  to  the  reader  than  one  based 
upon  chronological  data.  The  first  place  will  be  taken, 
therefore,  by  Arrowsmith,  the  author  of  a  dull  comedy, 
called  "  The  Reformation  "  (the  title  alone  was  enough 
to  kill  it),  which  did  not  hit  the  taste  of  the  town,  and 
soon  passed,  with  its  writer^  into  oblivion. 

As  late  as  1682  the  indefatigable  John  Banks  produced 
his  tragedy  of  ^'  The  Unhappy  Favourite  :  or.  The  Earl  of 


144 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


145 


Essex,"  concerning  wliicli  Steele,  in  The  Taller,  remarks, 
tliat  it  does  not  contain  one  good  line,  and  yet  it  was 
"  never  seen  without  drawing  tears  from  some  part  of  the 
audience."  Banks  also  composed  "The  Eival  Kings," 
1677;  "The  Destruction  of  Troy,"  1679;  "Virtue  Be- 
trayed," 1682;  "The  Island  Queens,"  1684;  "The  In- 
nocent Usurper,"  1694;  and  "Cyrus  the  Great,"  1696. 
"  His  style,"  it  is  said,  "  gives  alternate  specimens  of 
meanness  and  bombast.  But  even  his  dialogue  is  not 
destitute  of  occasional  nature  and  pathos,  and  the  value 
of  his  works  as  acting  plays  is  very  considerable."'^ 

The  surgeon  Bancroft,  who  had  a  large  practice  among 
fine  gentlemen  and  actors,  caught  from  them  a  touch  of 
stage-fever,  and  produced  a  play,  which  the  audience 
found  more  difficult  to  swallow  than  his  potions. 

Thomas  Betterton,  the  actor,  shows  a  certain  knowledge 
of  stage-craft  in  his  dramatic  works :  "  The  Woman  Made 
a  Justice,"  a  comedy;  "The  Amorous  Widow,  or  The 
Wanton  Wife;"  and  an  adaptation  of  John  Webster's 
tragedy  of  "  The  Unjust  Judge,  or  Appius  and  Virginia," 
wbich  he  entitled  "The  Eoman  Virgin,"  1679;  "The 
Kevenge:  or,  A  Match  at  Newgate,"  1680;  "The  Pro- 
phetess :  or,  The  History  of  Dioclesian,  with  a  Masque," 
1690;  "King  Henry *IV.,  with  the  Humours  of  Sir  John 
FalstafiP;"  and  "The  Bondman:  or.  Love  and  Liberty," 
published  in  1719,  after  his  death. 

To  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  full  reference  is  made  in 
another   chapter.      He   is   included  in   the   category   of 


Pope  speaks  of  Banks  as  Settle's  rival  in  tragedy,  '*  thongh  most  suc- 
iful  in  one  of  his  tragedies,  the  Earl  of  Essex,  which  is  yet  alive :  Anna 


cessful 

Boleyn,  The  Queen  cf  Scots,  and  Cyrus  the  Great  are  dead  and  gone.  These 
he  dressed  in  a  sort  of  beggar's  velvet,  or  a  happy  mixture  of  the  thick 
fustian  and  their  prosaic."     (Note  to  The  Duuciad,  bk.  vi.) 


1 


Dramatic  Authors  by  virtue  of  his  immortal  burlesque, 
"  The  Rehearsal,"  in  which  he  is  said  (by  those  who  will 
not  believe  that  a  Duke  can  be  a  wit)  to  have  been  assisted 
by  Martin  Clifford,  Dr.  Sprat,  and  Butler.  Bat  neither  of 
these  was  capable  of  the  fun  which  brims  over  in  Buck- 
ingham's "  Rehearsal  " — fan  so  true  and  fresh  that  even 
a  modern  audience  might  appreciate  it,  while  not  detect- 
ing or  understanding  the  parodies  and  contemporary 
allusions. 

From  his  love  of  wine  and  his  lyrical  gifts  Alexander 
Brome  earned  the  title  of  "The  English  Anacreon." 
Charles  Cotton  apostrophizes  him  : — 

**  Anacreon,  come  and  touch  thy  jolly  lyre, 
And  bring  in  Horace  to  the  quire  ; " 

and  Walton  alludes  to  his  vivacious  lays  and  cavalier- 
ditties  as 

"  Those  cheerful  songs  which  we 
Have  often  sung  with  mirth  and  merry  glee 
As  we  have  marched  to  fight  the  cause 
Of  God's  anointed  and  His  laws." 

He  is  mentioned  here  by  right  of  his  comedy  of  ''  The 
Cunning  Lovers."     Born  in  1620;  died  in  1666*. 

One  of  the  aristocratic  dramatists  of  the  day  was  the 
Lord  Broghill,  afterwards  Earl  of*  Orrery,  who  makes  so 
distinguished  a  figure  in  its  political  affairs.  He  was  the 
son  of  the  great  Earl  of  Cork,  and  with  his  precocious 
talents  astonished  the  grave  professors  of  Dublin  Univer- 
sity. At  the  age  of  15  he  went  abroad.  After  seeing 
much  of  men  and  cities,  he  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter 
of  the  Earl  of  Suffolk,  and  crossed  to  Ireland  to  celebrate 
his  wedding  on  the  very  day  that  the  Great  Civil  War 
broke  out.  Drawing  his  sword  in  support  of  the  royal 
cause,  he  fought  bravely  on  many  a  field.      After  the 

VOL.    I.  L 


I 


146 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


147 


execution   of  Charles  I.  lie  went  into  exile ;  but  secretly 
visiting  London,  came  into  contact  with  Cromwell,  and 
was  persuaded  by  him  to  assist  in  the  expedition  then 
fitting  out  for  Ireland,  with  the  understanding  that  he 
would  be  called  upon  to  fight  only  against  the  native 
Irish.     His  military  abilities  were  considerable,  and  his 
Irish  campaigns  were  crowned  with  success.     lie  won  the 
battle  of  Macrome,  and  inflicted  a  severe  defeat  on  Lord 
Muskerry    and  his    "Irish    Papistry."     At    the    great 
Protector's    death  he   refused   his   services   to    Kichard 
Cromwell,  and  returned  to  his  old  allegiance.     For  his 
share   in    bringing    about    the   Eestoration    Charles   II. 
created  him  Earl  of  Orrery.     His  occupation  as  a  soldier 
gone,  he  took  to  writing  plays,  of  which  Pepys  justly 
complains  that  tliey  are  all  alike,  though  for  one  or  two 
of  them  he  seems  to  have  had  a  fancy.     Thus  he  be- 
stows not  a  few  good  words  on  Orrery's  "  Henry  V.,"  in 
which  Henry  and  Owen  Tudor  in  stilted  rhymes  both  make 
love   to   Katherine    of  Valois.     In  December,  1666,  he 
notes  :  "  After  all  staying  above  an  hour  [at  Whitehall] 
for  the   players,  the  King  and  all  waiting,  which  was 
absurd,  saw  'Henry  V.,'  well  done  by  the  Duke's  people, 
and  in  most  excellent  habits,  all  new  vests,  being  put  on 
but  this  night.     But  I  sat  so  high,  and  so  far  off,  that  I 
missed  most  of  the  words,  and  sat  with  a  wind  coming 
into  my  back  and  neck,  which  did  much  trouble  me.     The 
play  continued  till  twelve  at  night,  and  then  up,  and  a 
most   horrid   cold  night  it  was,  and  frosty,  and  moon- 
shine." 

Says  Dr.  Doran  :  "  In  Orrery's  '  Mustapha  '  and  '  Try- 
phon,'  the  theme  is  all  love  and  honour,  without  variation. 
Orrery's  '  Mr.  Anthony  '  is  a  five-act  farce,  in  ridicule  of 


the  manners  and  morals  of  the  Puritans.  Therein  the 
noble  author  rolls  in  the  mire  for  the  gratification  of  the 
pure-minded  cavaliers.  Over  Orrery's  'Black  Prince,' 
even  vigilant  Mr.  Pepys  himself  fell  asleep,  in  spite  of  the 
stately  dances.  Perhaps  he  was  confused  by  the  author's 
illustration  of  genealogical  history  ;  for  in  this  play,  Joan, 
the  wife  of  the  Black  Prince,  is  described  as  the  widow  of 
Edmund,  Earl  of  Kent — her  father  !  But  what  mattered 
it  to  the  writer  whose  only  teaching  to  the  audience  was, 
that  if  they  did  not  fear  God,  they  must  take  care  to 
honour  the  King?  Orrery's  '  Altemira'  was  not  produced 
till  long  after  his  death.  It  is  a  roar  of  passion,  love  (or 
what  passed  for  it),  jealousy,  despair,  and  murder.  In 
the  concluding  scene  the  slaughter  is  terrific.  It  all 
takes  place  in  presence  of  an  unobtrusive  individual,  who 
carries  the  doctrine  of  non-intervention  to  its  extreme 
limit.  When  the  persons  of  the  drama  have  made  an  end 
of  one  another,  the  quietly  delighted  gentleman  steps 
forward,  and  blandly  remarks,  that  there  was  so  much 
virtue,  love,  and  honour  in  it  all,  that  he  could  not  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  interfere,  though  his  own  son  was  one  of 
the  victims  !  " 

John  Caryl,  or  Caryll,  appears  in  history  as  secretary 
to  Mary  of  Modena,  James  II.'s  Queen,  and  as  for  some 
time  James's  agent  at  the  Court  of  Rome.  Here  is 
Macaulay's  reference  to  him :  "  This  gentleman  was 
known  to  his  contemporaries  as  a  man  of  fortune  and 
fashion,  and  as  the  author  of  two  successful  plays,  a 
tragedy  in  rhyme  which  had  been  made  popular  by  the 
action  and  recitation  of  Betterton,  and  a  comedy  which 
owes  all  its  value  to  scenes  borrowed  from  Moliere.  These 
pieces  have  long  been  forgotten ;  but  what  Caryl  could 


I 


148 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


149 


not  do  for  himself  has  been  done  for  Mm  by  a  more 
powerful  genius.  Half  a  line  in  tbe  Eape  of  the  Lock  bas 
made  bis  name  immortal." 

His  plays  are  :  "  Tbe  Enpflisb  Princess,  or  Tbe  Deatb  of 
Eicbard  III.,"  1667;  and  "Sir  Solomon  Single,  or  The 
Cautious  Coxcomb,"  1671. 

James  II.  bestowed  on  bim  tbe  titles  of  Earl  Caryl  and 
Baron  Dartford,  which,  however,  proved  merely  nominal 
distinctions.  He  returned  to  England  in  tbe  reign  of 
Queen  Anne,  and  was  included  among  tbe  friends  of  Pope, 
to  whom,  it  is  said,  ^  he  suggested  tbe  idea  of  ''  Tbe  Eape 
of  the  Lock  "  : — 

**  What  dire  offence  from  amorous  causes  springs, 
V^hat  mighty  contests  rise  from  trivial  things, 
I  sing — This  verse  to  Gary  11,  Muse,  is  due." 

To  Henry  Lucius  Cary,  third  Viscount  Falkland,  son  of 
Clarendon  Falkland,  we   owe    a    tragedy   called    "  Tbe 
Marriage  Night,"  published  in  1664. 

A  play  called  "Generous  Enemies"  was  produced  by 
Corye  in  1667. 

John  Crowne,  who  died  in  1703,  was  a  native  of  Nova 
Scotia.  He  received  a  tolerable  education ;  and  as  gentle- 
man usher  to  a  wealthy  old  lady  having  obtained  some 
knowledge  of  society,  resolved  on  taking  up  the  profession 
of  an  author.  In  1671  he  made  his  appearance  as  a 
dramatist,  and  produced  the  first  of  bis  long  list  of  seven- 
teen plays,  the  tragi-comedy  of  "Juliana/'  Eocbester 
then  befriended  bim,  and  played  him  off  against  Dryden 
as  a  dramatic  poet.  Attaching  himself,  therefore,  to  the 
Court  party,  he  satirised  the  Whigs  in  bis  comedy  of 
"  City  Politics,"  1675,  and  in  tbe  same  year  brought  out 

*  See  "  Spence'a  Anecdotes,'*  p.  194. 


I 


at  Court  tbe  masque  of  "Calisto."*  In  1677  appeared 
his  tragedy,  in  two  parts,  "  The  Destruction  of  Jerusalem." 
After  this,  be  contrived  to  lose  Eochester's  patronage,  and 
as  be  bad  offended  tbe  Whigs,  bis  prospects  were  suffi- 
ciently dubious  ;  but  Charles  II.  promised  to  do  some- 
thing for  him  when  be  had  written  one  more  comedy,  and 
suggested  as  a  model  Agustin  Morato's  "  No  Puede  Ser  " 
("  It  Cannot  Be  ").  Such  was  the  origin  of  Crowne's  best 
play,  *'  Sir  Courtly  Nice ; "  but  on  the  last  day  of  tbe 
rehearsal  Charles  II.  died,  and  with  him  poor  Crowne's 
hopes  of  preferment. 

That  be  could  write  with  terseness  the  following  extract 
shows  : — 

"  These  are  great  mazims,  sir,  it  is  confessed ; 
Too  stately  for  a  woman's  narrow  breast. 
Poor  love  is  lost  in  men's  capacious  minds  ; 
In  ours,  it  fills  up  all  the  room  it  finds."  f 

And  this  : — 

"  I'll  not  such  f aviour  to  rebellion  show, 
To  wear  a  crown  the  people  do  bestow ; 
Who,  when  their  giddy  violence  is  past, 
Bhall   from  the  King,  the  adored,  revolt  at  last ; 
And  then  the  throne  they  gave  they  shall  invade, 
And  scorn  the  idol  which  themselves  have  made." 

Of  Abraham  Cowley  I  speak  at  length  under  the 
Poets;  but  here  I  may  refer  to  bis  dramatic  composi- 
tions :  "  Love's  Eiddle,'^  a  pastoral  comedy,  1638  ;  "  The 
Guardian,"   a  comedy,  1650;    and  the  more    celebrated 

*  Evelyn  saw  the  representation  of  this  masque  at  Whitehall.  The 
characters  in  it  were  represented  by  the  Princesses  Mary  and  Anne,  the 
Lady  Henrietta  Wentworth  (so  unhappily  associated  with  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth), Sarah  Jennings  (afterwards  Duchess  of  Marlborough),  and  Mrs. 
Blagg,  whom  Evelyn  has  celebrated  as  Mrs.  Godolphin,  There  were  other 
less  distinguished  ladies  and  some  professional  actresses,  while  the  dancea 
between  the  acts  were  executed  by  "  lords  and  ladies  of  high  degree.** 
Mrs.  Blagg,  on  this  occasion,  wore  £20,000  worth  of  Jewels. 

f  Which  may  be  compared  with  Lord  Byron's  : — 

"  Man's  love  is  of  man's  life  a  thing  apart; 
Tis  woman's  whole  existence.'* 


i 


150 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


"Cutter  of  Coleman  Street"  (founded  on  "The 
Guardian  "),   wliieh  was  produced  in  16G3. 

I  treat  of  Sir  William  Davenant  in  the  same  chapter. 
He  wrote,  in  all,  25  dramatic  pieces,  includin*^  "  The 
Tragedy  of  Albovine,  King  of  the  Lombards,"  1629; 
"  The  Cruel  Brother,"  1630;  ''The  Just  Italian,"  1630; 
"  The  Temple  of  Love,"  1634  ;  "  The  Triumphs  of  the 
Prince  d'Amour,"  1G35;  "The  Platonick  Lovers,''  1636; 
"The  Witts,"  1636;  "The  Unfortunate  Lovers,"  1613; 
"The  Siege  of  Eliodes,"  1663  ;  ''  The  Rivals,"  1668;  and 
"  The  Man^s  a  Master,"  1668. 

It  will  be  for  the  convenience  of  the  reader  that  we 
should  consider  Drydeti's  dramatic  work  as  a  whole, 
taking  his  plajs  in  the  chronological  order  of  their 
production. 

His  first  dramatic  effort  was  "The  Wild  Gallant,  a 
Comedy  "  probably  produced  in  February,  1663,  for  on 
the  23rd  of  that  month  Mr.  Pepys  records  that  "  it  was 
ill  acted,  and  the  play  so  poor  a  thing  as  ever  I  saw  in  my 
life."  Dryden  himself  acknowledges  that  it  was  unsuc- 
cessful,* and  so  it  deserved  to  be,  for  the  plot,  derived 
from  a  Spanish  source,  is  extravagant,  and  the  characters 
are  absurdly  unreal.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  lively  incident 
in  it ;  but,  as  Scott  remarks,  few  modern  audiences  would 
endure  the  gross  deceit  practised  on  Lord  Nonsuch  in  the 
fourth  act;  nor  is  the  device  of  Lady  Constance  to  gain  her 
lover,  by  marrying  him  in  the  disguise  of  a  heathen 
divinity,  more  grotesque  than  unnatural.  "Those  pas- 
sages,  in  which  the  plot  stands  still,  while  the  spectators 

*  "It  would  be  a  great  impudence  in  me,"  he  says,  "to  say  much  of  a 
comedy,  which  has  had  but  indifferent  success  in  the  action.  I  made  the 
town  my  judges,  and  the  greater  part  condemned  it:  after  which  I  do  not 
think  it  my  concernment  to  defend  it  with  the  ordinary  zeal  of  a  poet  for 
Ills  decried  poem." 


OR,  ENGLAND  TNDER  CHARLES  II. 


151 


are  entertained  with  flippant  dialogue  and  repartee,  are 
ridiculed  in  the  scene  betwixt  Prince  Prettyman  and  Tom 
Thimble  in  the  Eehearsal ;  the  facetious  Mr.  Bibber  being 
the  original  of  the  latter  personage.  The  character  of 
Trice,  at  least  his  whimsical  humour  of  drinking,  playing 
at  dice  by  himself,  and  quarrelling  as  if  engaged  with  a 
successful  gamester,  is  imitated  from  the  character  of 
Carlo,  in  Jonson's  '  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour/  who 
drinks  with  a  supposed  companion,  quarrels  about  the 
pledge,  and  tosses  about  the  cups  and  flasks  in  the  imagi- 
nary brawl."  But  the  best  conceived  and  best  executed 
character  in  the  piece  is  Sir  Timorous. 

"  The  Wild  Gallant "  was  revived  and  published  in  1669, 
with  a  new  prologue  and  epilogue,  and  some  alterations 
which  showed  that  Dryden's  Muse  in  the  six  years  had 
gained  nothing  in  morality. 

The  dramatis  personoe  are:  Lord  Nonsuch,  an  old  rich 
humorous  lord  ;  Justice  Trice,  his  neighbour  ;  Mr.  Loveby, 
the  Wild  Gallant;  Sir  Timorous,  a  bashful  knight;  Failer 
and  Burr,  hangers-on  of  Sir  Timorous  ;  Bibber,  a  tailor, 
and  Setstone,  a  jeweller;  Lady  Constance,  Lord  Nonsuch's 
daughter;  Madam  Isabelle,  her  cousin;  and  Mrs.  Bibber, 
the  tailor's  wife. 

Of  the  flashes  of  liveliness  which  relieve  the  dialogue 
we  give  a  specimen  or  two . 

Loveby  describes  a  garret  in  the  tailor's  house  : — 

"  Why,  'tis  a  kind  of  little  ease,*  to  cramp  thy  rebellious  prentices  in ; 
I  have  seen  an  nsarer's  iron  chest  would  hold  two  on't ;  a  penny  looking- 
glass  cannot  stand  upright  in  the  window,  that  and  the  brush  tills  it:  the 
hat-case  must  be  dis])osed  under  the  bed,  and  the  comb-case  will  hang  down 
from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor.  If  I  chance  to  dine  in  my  chamber,  I  must 
stay  till  I  am  empty  before  I  can  get  out." 


*  A  prison,  so  called  from  its  construction. 


152 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


153 


A  jest  quite  in  the  modern  style : — 

"Lovehy, — But  for  the  fountain,  madam — 

Consta7^ce. — The  fountain's  a  poor  excuse,  it  will  not  hold  water." 

Jests  against  the  clergy  : — 

"  If  the  Devil  can  send  churchmen  on  his  errands,  Lord  have  mercy  on  the 
laity ! " 

Constance, — Our  parson  ran  away  too,  when  they  cried  out  the  Devil ! 

Lovthij. — He  was  the  wiser ;  for  if  the  devil  had  come  indeed,  he  has 
preached  so  long  against  him,  it  would  have  gone  hard  with  him. 

&Y.sf^w^.— Indeed,  I  have  always  observed  parsons  to  be  more  fearful  of 
the  Devil  than  other  people. 

Lovely. — Oh,  the  Devil's  the  spirit,  and  the  parson's  the  flesh ;  and  betwixt 
those  two  there  must  be  a  war ;  yet,  to  do  them  both  right,  I  think  in  my 
conscience  they  quarrel  only  like  lawyers  for  their  fees,  and  meet  good 
friends  in  private,  to  laugh  at  their  clients." 

Dryden's  second  dramatic  effort  was  "  The  Eival-Ladies, 
a  Tragi-Comedy/'  first  acted  in  16G4.  Pepys  refers  to  it 
as  *'a  very  innocent  and  most  pretty  witty  play/'  with 
which  he  was  much  pleased,  and  again,  after  reading  it, 
he  pronounces  it  "a  most  pleasant  and  witty  fine-writ 
play."  It  is,  for  Dryden,  commendably  free  from  inde- 
cency. The  dialogue  is  often  very  smart,  and  at  times, 
glitters  with  wise  and  witty  phrases.  As  for  tlie  plot, 
which  is  obviously  borrowed  from  some  Spanish  drama  of 
intrigue,  it  is  so  complex  as  almost  to  defy  unravelling ; 
but  the  incidents  are  numerous  and  entertaining.  Several 
of  the  scenes  are  written  in  rhyme,  in  what  was  then  called 
the  heroic  manner. 

The  dramatis  fersonce  are  :  Don  Gonzalvo  de  Peralta,  a 
young  gentleman  newly  arrived  from  the  Indies,  in  love 
with  Julia;  Don  Eoderigo  de  Sylva,  also  in  love  with 
Julia ;  and  Don  Manuel  de  Torres,  Julia's  brother ;  Julia, 
Don  ManueFs  elder  sister,  promised  to  Eoderigo  ;  Honoria, 
a  younger  sister,  disguised  in  a  man's  habit,  and  going  by 
the  name  of  Hippolito,  in  love  with  Gonzalvo;  and  Ange- 


I 


lina,  Don  Eoderigo's  sister,  in  man's  habit,  likewise  in 
love  with  Gonzalvo,  and  going  by  the  name  of  Aneideo. 
It  is  not  difficult  to  imagine  the  embarrassments  occa- 
sioned by  this  arrangement  of  the  characters.  Eventually, 
however,  Eoderigo  and  Julia  are  mated;  Honoria  wins 
Gonzalvo,  aud  we  are  allowed  to  see  that  an  alliance  will 
.be  concluded  between  Angelina  and  Don  Manuel. 
We  quote  a  few  happy  sentences  :— 

"  I  will  not  so  much  crush  a  budding  virtue 
As  to  suspect." 

"  One  of  those  little  prating  girls, 
Of  whom  fond  parents  tell  such  tedious  stories.'* 

"  Methinks,  I  see 
Your  Boul  retired  within  her  inmost  chamber." 

"  Like  a  Fair  mourner  sit  in  state,  with  all 
The  silent  pangs  of  sorrow  round  about  her." 

"  I  am  no  more  afraid  of  flying  censures, 
Than  heaven  of  being  fired  with  mounting  sparkles." 

"  The  noblest  part  of  liberty  they  lose 
Who  can  but  shun,  and  want  the  power  to  choose." 

"  I  feel  death  rising  higher  still,  and  higher. 
Within  my  bosom  ;  every  breath  I  fetch 
Shuts  up  my  life  within  a  shorter  compass, 
And,  like  the  vanishing  sound  of  bells,  grows  less 
And  less  each  pulse,  till  it  be  lost  in  air." 

We  come  next  to  "  The  Indian  Queen,"  a  play  in  which 
Dryden  assisted  that  dull  dramatist.  Sir  Eobert  Howard, 
youngest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Berkshire.  In  October,  1663, 
Dryden  married  Sir  Eobert  Howard's  sister  Elizabeth,  and 
in  the  following  month  was  brought  out  "  The  Indian 
Queen,"  with  costly  scenery  and  rich  decorations,  of  which 
Evelyn  says  that  "  the  like  of  them  had  never  been  seen 
here,  or  haply,  except  rarely,  elsewhere,  in  a  mercenary 
theatre."  The  dramatis  'persona  include :— The  Inca  of 
Peru ;  Montezuma,  his  general ;  Acacis,  son  to  Zempoalla ; 


154 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


Traxalla,  Zempoalla's  general ;  Garucca,  a  faithful  servant 
to  Aurexia;  the  God  of  Dreams  ;  and  Ismeron,  a  Conjurer  ; 
Aurexia,  the  lawful  Queen  of  Mexico;  Zempoalla,  the 
usurping  Indian  Queen,  and  Orazia,  daugliter  to  the 
Inca.  The  characters  of  Montezuma  and  Zempoalla 
seem  clearly  to  belong  to  Drjden,  and  much  of  the  third 
act  exhibits  his  vigorous  versification. 

A  summary  of  tlie  plot  will  show  the  kind  of  dramatic 
interest  which  tlien  pleased  tlie  public.  In  Act  I.,  Mon- 
tezuma is  loaded  with  rewards  by  the  Inca  of  Peru  for 
his  victories  over  the  Mexicans,  and  among  these  receives 
as  a  prisoner  Prince  Acacis,  son  of  Zempoalla,  the  usurp- 
ing Indian  Queen.  Montezuma  releases  the  prince,  and 
asks  for  the  hand  of  Orazia,  the  Inca's  daughter,  a 
request  at  which  the  Inca  is  indignant.  To  revenge  him- 
self Montezuma  resolves  to  carry  his  sword  to  the  aid 
of  the  Mexicans,  though  Acacis  reminds  him  of  his  duty, 
and  refuses  to  accept  his  liberty.  He  feels  bound  in  honour 
to  the  Inca,  and,  moreover,  he  too  is  not  insensible  to  the 
charms  of  Orazia. 

"  Mont. — Yoa  are  my  prisoner,  and  I  set  you  freo. 

Aca. —'Twere  baseness  to  accept  such  liberty. 
Mont. — From  him  that  conqaered  yoa,  it  shoaid  be  sought. 

Aca. — No,  but  from  him,  for  whom  my  conqueror  fought, 
il/ont.— Still  you  are  mine,  his  gift  has  made  you  so. 

Aca. — He  gave  me  to  his  general,  not  his  foe." 

Montezuma  betakes  himself  to  the  enemy,  while  Acacis 
remains,  and  is  set  free  by  the  Inca,  when  he  returns 
with  his  soldiers  to  find  that  his  general  has  gone.  Still 
Acacis  shows  no  inclination  to  depart,  but  undertakes  the 
defence  of  the  Inca  and  his  daughter  against  Montezuma's 
revenge.  The  scene  then  shifts  to  the  camp  of  the  Mexi- 
cans, where  Zempoalla,  the    mothor  of  Acacis,  receives 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


155- 


f 


Montezuma  with  a  noble  welcome,  and  vows  to  the  gods 
that  she  will  sacrifice  a  prince  to  them  if  they  give  her 

arms  the  victory. 

Act  II.— The  Inca  and  his  daughter,  in  flying  from  the 
field  of  battle,  are  overtaken  by  Montezuma,  who  turns 
repentant  at  their  sight,  and  when  Traxalla,  the  Indian 
Queen's  general,  claims  them  as  his  prisoners,  refuses  to 
give  them  up.  Acacis,  who  in  the  fight  has  several  times 
saved  their  lives,  now  appears,  and  the  Mexicans,  hailing 
with  delight  their  prince,  leave  it  to  him  to  decide  the  con- 
tention between  Montezuma  and  Traxalla.  He  adjudges 
the  prisoners  to  the  former.  The  scene  changes,  and  we 
see  Zempoalla  wrathful  because  the  victorious   Mexicans 

<t above  their  prince's  dare  proclaim, 

With  their  rebellious  breath,  a  stranger's  name." 

Learning  from  Traxalla  the  decision  made  by  her  son, 
she  commands  that  the  Inca  and  his  daughter  shall  be 
seized  by  force,  their  lives  being  forfeit  to  the  gods  by  her 
vow.  While  Acacis  is  confessing  to  Montezuma  his  grief 
at  his  mother's  usurpation  of  the  throne  on  the  murder  of 
his  uncle  by  Traxalla,  a  messenger  enters  with  the  ill 
tidinjjs  that  Traxalla  has  carried  ofP  the  Inca  and  Orazia 
from  Montezuma's  tent;  whereupon  Acacis  and  Monte- 
zuma agree  to  unite  for  the  punishment  of  the  rebellious 

general. 

Act  III.— Acacis  and  Montezuma  break  in  upon  a  festival 
which  the  Indians  are  celebrating  in  honour  of  their  victory. 
Zempoalla  commands  that  they  shall  be  brought  before 
her,  and  orders  Montezuma  and  Orazia  to  be  thrown  into 
"  several  prisons."  Acasis  pleads  in  vain  for  Orazia.  Trax- 
alla enters,  and  it  soon  appears  that  Zempoalla  has  fallen 
in  love  with  Montezuma,  while  Traxalla  is  not  less  suddenly 


i 


1 


156 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


157 


enamoured  of  the  Peruvian  princess.  A  musical  interlude 
follows,  in  wliich  Zempoalla  resorts  to  Ismeron,  a  conjurer, 
for  the  interpretation  of  a  dream,  and  he  thereupon  raises 
the  God  of  Dreams,  whose  answer,  however,  is  as  vague 
as  an  ancient  oracle : — 

"  Seek  not  to  know  what  must  not  be  revealed ; 
Joys  only  flow  where  fate  is  most  concealed: 
Too  busy  man  would  find  his  sorrows  more, 
If  future  fortunes  he  should  know  before  j 
For,  by  that  knowledge  of  his  destiny. 
He  would  not  live  at  all,  but  always  die.*'* 

Zempoalla  droops  "under  the  weight  of  rage  and 
care,"  and  then  a  song  is  supposed  to  be  sung  by  aerial 
spirits  : — 

"  Poor  mortals,  that  are  clogged  with  earth  below, 
Sink  under  love  and  care, 
While  we,  that  dwell  in  air. 
Such  heavy  passions  never  know. 
Why  then  should  mortals  be 
Unwilling  to  be  free 
From  blood,  that  sallow  cloud, 
Which  shining  souls  does  shroud  ? 
Then  they'll  show  bright, 
And  like  us  light, 

W  hen  leaving  bodies  with  their  care, 
They  slide  to  us  and  air." 

At  the  opening  of  Act  IV.  Montezuma  is  discovered, 
asleep  in  prison.  To  him  enters  Traxalla,  leading  in 
Orazia,  and  offers  him  his  life  on  condition  that  he  resigns 
the  princess.  On  his  refusal,  Traxalla  is  about  to  slay 
him,  when  Zempoalla  appears,  and  threatens,  in  her  turn, 
to  kill  Orazia.      Says  Traxalla : — 

"  ....  If  she  must  die, 
The  way  to  her  loved  life  through  mine  shall  lie,*' 

He  thrusts  the  Indian  Queen  aside  and  steps  before 
Orazia,  who  in  her  turn  throws  herself  before  Montezuma. 

•  This  passage  was  probably  in  Pope's  memory  when  he  wrote  the  well- 
known  lines  beginning,  "Heaven  from  all  creatures  hides  the  book  of  Fate.'' 


As  it  is  now  clear  that  the  two  love  one  another,  the 
Queen  and  her  general  determine  that  both  shall  die. 
But  Acacis  obtains  admission  to  the  prison,  restores 
Montezuma  his  sword,  and  releases  Orazia.  Having 
thus  obeyed  honour  in  setting  the  Inca's  daughter  free, 
Acacis  says  he  must  next  obey  love,  and  ^^ht  for  her.  At 
the  clash  of  their  swords  Orazia  hastily  returns,  to  find 
Acacis  bleeding  from  his  wounds,  and  at  Montezuma's 

mercy. 

"  Orazia.— What  noise  is  this  ? 

Hold,  hold !  what  cause  could  be  so  great,  to  move 
This  furious  hatred  ?  — 
Mont. — 'Twas  our  furious  love. — 
iica.— Love,  which  I  hid  till  I  had  set  you  free. 
And  bought  your  pardon  with  my  liberty : 
That  done,  I  thought,  I  less  unjustly  might 
With  Montezuma,  for  Orazia,  fight; 
He  has  prevailed,  and  I  must  now  confess 
His  fortune  greater,  not  my  passion  less  ; 
Yet  cannot  yield  you,  till  his  sword  remove 
A  dying  rival,  that  holds  fast  his  love. 
Oraz. — Whoever  falls,  'tis  my  protector  still, 

And  then  the  crime's  as  great,  to  die  as  kill.— 
Acacis,  do  not  hopeless  love  pursue  ; 
But  live,  and  this  soft  malady  subdue." 

She  makes  np  her  mind  to  return  to  her  prison,  and 
there,  in  fetters,  with  her  father  mourn.  "  She  goes 
softly  off,  and  often  looks  back."  Montezuma  and  Acacis 
are  about  to  follow,  when  Zempoalla,  Traxalla,  and 
attendants  enter  and  seize  them.  Orazia  returns,  in 
order  to  share  her  lover's  fate;  Zempoalla  dooms  them 
to  the  sacrificial  altar;  and  the  act  closes  with  a  pledge 
from  Acacis  that  he  wiU  fall  before  tbem,  "  the  first  sacri- 
fice." 

Act  V.    opens   with   a   scene   which   was  doubtlessly 
"  got  up  "  in  a  very  effective  and  brilliant  manner — the 


158 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


Temple  of  the  Sun,  all  of  gold,  with  four  Priests,  in 
habits  of  white  and  red  feathers,  attending  by  a  bloody 
altar,  as  ready  for  sacrifice.  Then  enter  the  Guards,  Zem- 
poalla  and  Traxalla,  the  Inca,  Orazia,  and  Montezuma, 
bound.     As  soon  as  they  are  placed,  the  Priest  sings  : — 

"  You  to  whom  victory  we  owe, 

Whose  glories  rise 

By  sacrifice, 
And  from  our  fates  below; 
Never  did  your  altars  shine 
Fea.ste(l  with  blood  so  near  divine  ; 

Princes  to  whom  we  bow 
As  they  to  you  : — 
Thus  you  can  ravish  from  a  throne, 
And,  by  their  loss  of  power,  declare  your  own." 

The  action  then  grows  somewhat  ^^  mixed."  Zempoalla 
would  save  Montezuma  and  kill  Orazia;  Traxalla  would 
save  Orazia  and  kill  Montezuma ;  Acaeis  would  save  both, 
and,  stabbing  himself — in  order,  we  suppose,  to  remove 
one  difficulty  out  of  the  way — dies,  calling  on  Montezuma 
for  his  friendship,  and  on  Orazia  for  her  love.  The  latter 
weeps  over  her  dying  adorer,  who  professes  to  be 

'*  Refreshed  by  that  kind  shower  of  pitying  tears/* 

and  so  expires.  At  this  moment  comes  information  of  the 
near  approach  of  the  banished  Queen,  with  old  Garucca. 
She  has  declared  Montezuma  to  be  her  son,  and  he  is  im- 
mediately hailed  as  King  by  a  rejoicing  people.  Traxalla 
draws  and  thrusts  at  Montezuma,  who  wards  off  the 
blow,  and  kills  him  with  a  dagger  placed  in  his  hands 
hj  Zempoalla.  He  is  on  the  point  of  attacking  the 
guards,  in  order  to  rescue  the  Inca,  when  in  come  Queen 
Aurexia,  Garucca,  and  their  soldiers.  Great  is  the  joy  of 
Aurexia  at  recovering  her  son  !  They  offer  pardon  and 
amity  to  Zempoalla,  but  she,  though  fallen  from  her  high 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  li. 


169 


\^ 


estate,  preserves  her  proud  spirit,  and,  grieving  over  her 
dead  Acaeis,  kills  herself  : — 

"  The  greatest  proof  of  courage  we  can  give 
Is  thus  to  die  when  we  have  power  to  live.'* 

The  end  can  now  be  imagined : — 

**  Montezuma  {to  the  Inca). — Your  pardon,  Royal  Sir. 

Inca. — You  have  my  love.  ^Gives  him  ORAZIA. 

Aurexia. — The  gods,  my  son,  your  happy  choice  approve. 

3IoHt. — Come,  my  Orazia  then,  and  pay  with  me 

I  Leads  her  to  ACACIS. 
Some  tears  to  poor  Acaeis'  memory  ; 

So  stiange  a  P'ate  for  Men  the  gods  ordain, 

Our  clearest  sunshine  should  be  mixed  with  rain  ; 

How  equally  our  joys  and  sorrows  njove  ! 

Death's  fatal  triumphs  joined  with  those  of  Love. 

Love  crowns  the  dead,  and  Death  crowns  him  that  lives, 

Each  gains  the  conquest  which  the  other  gives. 

[Exeunt  Oeazia." 

The  sequel  of  "  The  Indian  Queen  "  is  entitled,  ''  The 
Indian  Emperor :  or.  The  Conquest  of  Mexico  by  the 
Spaniards,"  first  acted  in  1GG5,  and  very  warmly  received. 
An  "Argument,"  showing  the  connection  between  the 
two,  was  printed  and  dispersed  amoni>'  the  audience  on 
the  first  night  of  representation,  to  which  Bayes  alhides  in 
"The  Rehearsal,"  where  he  says  that  he  has  printed  many 
reams  to  instil  into  the  audience  some  conception  of  his 
plot.  Dryclen  simply  points  out  that,  at  the  conclusion  of 
"  The  Indian  Queen,"  only  two  considerable  characters 
remained  alive,  Montezuma  and  Orazia,  who  could  be  in- 
troduced into  another  story.  Therefore,  he  "  thought  it 
necessary  to  produce  new  persons  from  the  old  ones :  and 
considering  the  late  Indian  Queen,  before  she  loved  Mon- 
tezuma, lived  in  clandestine  marriage  with  her  general 
Traxalla,  from  those  two  he  has  raised  a  son  and  two 
daughters,  supposed  to  be  left  young  orphans  at  their 
death.     On  the  other  side,  he  has  given  to  Montezuma 


160 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


161 


and  Orazia  two  sons  and  a  daughter ;  all  now  supposed 
to  be  grown  up  to  men's  and  women's  estate ;  and  their 
mother,  Orazia  (for  whom  there  was  no  further  use  in  the 

story),  lately  dead." 

*^The  Indian  Emperor"  is  an  instance,  says  Scott,  of 
the  beaatif  al  poetry  which  may  be  united  to,  or  rather 
thrown  away  upon,  the  heroic  drama.  "  The  very  first 
scene  exhibits  much  of  those  beauties,  and  their  atten- 
dant deformities.  A  modern  audience  would  hardly  have 
sate  in  patience  to  hear  more  than  the  first  extravagant 
and  ludicrous  supposition  of  Cortez  : — 

*  As  if  our  old  world  modestly  withdrew  ; 
And  here,  in  private,  had  brought  forth  a  new.* 

But  had  they  condemned  the  piece  for  this  uncommon 
case  of  parturition,  they  would  have  lost  the  beautiful 
and  melodious  verses  in  which  Cortez  and  his  followers 
describe  the  advantages  of  the  newly  discovered  world ; 
and  they  would  have  lost  the  still  more  exquisite  account, 
which,  immediately  after,  Guyomar  gives  of  the  arrival  of 
the  Spanish  fleet.     Of  the  characters  little  need  be  said ; 
they  stalk   on,   in   their   own   fairy  land,   in   the   same 
uniform  livery,  and  with  little  peculiarity  of  discrimina- 
tion.    All  the  men,  from  Montezuma  down  to  Pizarro, 
are  brave  warriors ;  and  only  vary,  in  proportion  to  the 
mitigating  qualities  which  the  poet  has  infused  into  their 
military  ardour.     The  women  are   all  beautiful,  and  all 
deeply  in  love;    differing  from  each  other  only,  as  the 
haughty  or  tender  predominates  in  their  passion.     But 
the    charm   of    the   poetry,    and   the   ingenuity    of   the 
dialogue,  render  it  impossible  to  peruse,  without  pleasure, 
a  drama,  the  faults  of  which  may  be  imputed  to  its  struc- 
ture, while  its  beauties  are  peculiar  to  Dryden." 


"V 

I 

( 


The  dramatis  personce  include  Moutezuma,  Emperor  of 
Mexico;  his  sons,  Odmar  and  Guyomar;  Orbellom,  son 
to  the  late  Indian  Queen,  by  Traxalla  ;  Cydaria,  Monte- 
zuma's daughter ;  Almeria  and  Alibech,  the  late  Indian 
Queen's  two  daughters ;  Cortez,  the  Spanish  general,  and 
his  lieutenants,  Vasquez  and  Pizarro. 

We  quote  the  passages  praised  by  Scott : — 

*•  Cortez. — Here  nature  spreads  her  fruitful  sweetness  round, 
Breathes  on  the  air  and  broods  upon  the  ground; 
Here  days  and  nights  the  only  seasons  be ; 
The  sun  no  climate  does  so  gladly  see : 
When  forced  from  hence,  to  view  our  parts,  he  mourns. 
Takes  little  journeys  and  makes  quick  returns. 
Fdsquez. — Methinks,  we  walk  in  dreams  on  Fairyland, 
Where  golden  ore  is  mixt  with  common  sand ; 
Each  downfall  of  a  flood,  the  mountains  pour 
From  their  rich  bowels,  rolls  a  silver  shower.** 
"  Gwyomar. — At  last,  as  far  as  I  could  cast  my  eyes 

Upon  the  sea,  somewhat,  methought,  did  rise, 
Like  bluish  mists,  which,  still  appearing  more, 
Took  dreadful  shapes,  and  moved  towards  the  shore. 

Jj^ont. — What  forms  did  these  new  wonders  represent  ? 
Cruy. — More  strange  than  what  your  wonder  can  invent. 
Tho  object  I  could  first  distinctly  view 
Was  tall  straight  trees,  which  on  the  waters  flew ; 
Wings  on  their  sides,  instead  of  leaves,  did  grow. 
Which  gathered  all  the  breath  the  winds  could  blow : 
And  at  their  roots  grew  floating  palaces, 
Whose  outblowed  bellies  cut  the  yielding  seas. 

Mont, — What  divine  monsters,  0  ye  gods,  were  these, 
That  float  in  air,  and  fly  upon  the  seas  ! 
Come  they  alive,  or  dead,  upon  the  shore  ? 
Guy. — Alas,  they  lived  too  sure  :  I  heard  them  roar. 

All  turned  their  sides,  and  to  each  other  spoke ; 
I  saw  their  words  break  out  in  fire  and  smoke. 
Sure  'tis  their  voice  that  thunders  from  on  high, 
Or  these  the  younger  brothers  of  the  sky." 

Langbaine  asserts  that  the  comedy  of  "  Secret  Love  ; 
or,  The  Maiden  Queen,''  is  founded  upon  certain  passages 
in  Mademoiselle  de  Scuderi's  "  Grand  Cyrus "  and 
*'  Ibrahim,  the  Illustrious  Bassa."     However  this  may  be. 


VOL.   I. 


M 


162 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


163 


tte  play  is  one  of  its  author's  liveliest  and  most  effective 
compositions ;  and  we  are  not  at  all  sure  but  that,  with 
the  pruning  happily  rendered  necessary  by  modern  taste, 
it  mif^ht  meet  a  favourable  reception  from  an  audience  of 
to-day.  The  dialogue  is  always  sprightly,  and  sometimes 
poetical ;  and  the  part  of  Florimel  offers  abundant  oppor- 
tunities to  a  clever  actress. 

The  dramatis  personce,  with  the  original  cast,  may  here 
be  given  :  Lysimantes,  first  Prince  of  the  Blood,  Mr. 
Burt ;  Philocles,  the  Queen's  favourite,  Major  Mohun  ; 
Celadon,  a  courtier,  Mr.  Hart;  Queen  of  Sicily,  Mrs. 
Marshall ;  Candispe,  Princess  of  the  Blood,  Mrs.  Quin ; 
Asteria,  the  Queen's  confidante,  Mrs.  Knipp  ;  Florimel,  a 
maid  of  honour,  Mrs.  Ellen  Gwynn  ;  Flavia,  another 
maid  of  honour,  Mrs.  Frances  Davenport  ;  Olinda  and 
Sabina,  sisters,  Mrs.  Putter  and  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Daven- 
port ;  Melissa,  their  mother,  Mrs.  Cory. 

With  such  a  cast,  almost  any  play  must  have  been 
successful  ;  but  the  "  triumphant  reception  '^  which 
"  Secret  Love "  commanded  was  specially  due  to  the 
inimitable  acting  of  Nell  Gwynn,  for  whom  the  part  of 
Florimel  seems  to  have  been  written.  It  was  produced 
on  March  2nd,  1667,  both  Charles  II.  and  the  Duke  of 
Tork  being  present.  Pepys,  the  invaluable,  records  that 
"  the  play  is  mightily  recommended  for  the  regularity  of 
it  and  the  strain  and  wit  of  Nell  Gwynn's  acting."  He 
adds  that  "  he  can  never  hope  to  see  the  like  done  again 
by  man  or  woman,"  and  that  "  so  great  performance  of  a 
comical  part  was  never,  I  believe,  in  the  world  before  as 
Nell  do  this,  both  as  a  mad  girl,  then  most  and  best  of 
all  when  she  comes  in  like  a  young  gallant,  and  hath  the 
motions  and  carriage  of  a  spark  the  most  that  ever  I  saw 


!■*». 
i 


any  man  have.  It  makes  me,  I  confess,  admire  her."  No 
doubt,  as  Mr.  Saintsbury  suggests,  the  portrait  which 
Celadon  draws  of  Florimel  is  pretty  accurately  descriptive 
of  its  bewitching  representative  :  "  A  turned-up  nose 
that  gives  an  air  to  your  face  : — Oh,  I  find  I  am  more  and 
more  in  love  with  you  ! — a  full  nether  lip,  an  out-mouth, 
that  makes  mine  water  at  it ;  the  bottom  of  your  cheeks 
a  little  blub,  and  two  dimples  when  you  smile  :  For  your 
stature,  'tis  well ;  and  for  your  wit,  'twas  given  you  by  one 
that  knew  it  had  been  thrown  away  upon  an  ill  face. — 
Come,  you're  handsome,  there's  no  denying  it." 

Here  is  a  fine  description  of  the  Queen  of  Sicily : — 

"  Doubtless  she's  the  glory  of  her  time  : 
Of  faultless  beauty,  blooming  as  the  spring 
In  our  Sicilian  groves  ;  matchless  in  virtue, 
And  largely  souled  when'er  her  bounty  gives, 
As,  with  each  breath,  she  could  create  new  Indies." 

As  a  brief  specimen  of  the  lively  dialogue  given  to 
Celadon  and  Florimel,  take  the  following  : — 

"  Flo.~l  would  have  a  lover  that,  if  need  be,  should  hang  himself,  drown 
himself,  break  his  neck,  poison  himself,  for  very  despair :  He  that  will 
scruple  this  is  an  impudent  fellow  if  he  says  he  is  in  love. 

Cil. — Pray,  madam,  which  of  these  four  things  would  you  have  your 
lover  to  do  ?  For  a  man's  but  a  man ;  he  cannot  hang,  and  drown,  and 
break  his  neck,  and  poison  himself,  all  together. 

JYtf.— Well,  then,  because  you  are  but  a  beginner,  and  I  would  not  dis- 
courage you,  any  of  these  shall  serve  your  turn,  in  a  fair  way. 

Cel.—l  am  much  deceived  in  those  eyes  of  yours,  if  a  treat,  a  song,  and 
the  fiddles,  be  not  a  more  acceptable  proof  of  love  to  you,  than  any  of 
those  tragical  ones  you  have  mentioned." 

The  trail  of  the  serpent  pollutes  Dryden's  comedy  of 
"  Sir  Martin  Mar-all ;  or,  The  Feigned  Innocence  "—an 
adaptation  of  the  Duke  of  Newcastle's  translation  of 
Moliere's  "  L'Etourdi  "—in  which  but  little  of  the  wit, 
and  none  of  the  airiness,  of  the  original,  is  preserved — 
mixed  up  with  an  excessively  indelicate  under-plot  from 


THE  MEEEY  MONARCH  ; 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


165 


Quinault's  **  L' Amour  Indiscret/'  It  seems  to  have  hit  the 
taste  of  the  public  when  produced  in  1667,^  for  it  ran  for 
thirty-three  nights,  and  was  four  times  acted  at  Court. 
Doubtlessly,  much  of  its  success  was  owing  to  the  humour 
of  the  inimitable  Noakes,  who  played  Sir  Martin  Mar-alL 
It  must  be  admitted  that  those  portions  of  the  play  in 
which  Sir  Martin  appears  are  sufficiently  diverting ;  but 
these  would  not  excuse  to  a  modern  audience  the  singular 
coarseness  of  the  scenes  between  Lord  Dartmouth,  Mrs. 
Christian,  and  Lady  Dupe.  There  is  an  inconceivable 
grossness  in  the  idea  of  a  young  girl  coolly  calculating 
the  highest  profits  to  be  obtained  by  becoming  the  pre- 
tended victim  of  a  seduction,  while  her  aunt  speculates 
with  her  on  the  best  means  of  stimulating  the  ardour  of 
her  would-be  seducer  !  What  are  we  to  think  of  the 
man  who  could  put  on  the  stage  a  dramatic  representa- 
tion of  such  an  idea  ?  What  are  we  to  think  of  the 
audiences  who  could  tolerate  and  even  applaud  such  a 
representation  ?  We  may  inquire,  with  Taine,  "  What 
could  the  drama  teach  to  gamesters  like  St.  Albans, 
drunkards  like  Rochester,  prostitutes  like  Castlemaine, 
old  boys  like  Charles  II.  ?  What  spectators  were  those 
coarse  epicureans,  incapable  even  of  an  assumed  decency, 
lovers  of  brutal  pleasures,  barbarious  in  their  sports, 
obscene  in  words,  void  of  honour,  humanity,  politeness, 
who  made  the  Court  a  house  of  ill  fame?"  It  was 
Dryden's  misfortune— or  shall  we  not  rather  say  his 
gija?_that  he  wrote  down  to  this  lewd,  coarse  audience, 
and  degraded  his  strong  rich  genius  by  exposing  it  to 
the  rank  airs  of  a  moral  cesspool. 

«  The  Tempest ;  or,  The  Enchanted  Island,  a  Comedy,"^ 

»  At  the  Duke  of  York's  Theatre,  Aug.  16, 1667. 


1 


I 


•i 


a  travesty  of  Shakespeare's  immortal  play  in  which 
Miranda  is  turned  into  a  courtesan,  and  provided  with 
a  sister  named  Dorinda,  while  Caliban  is  furnished  with  a 
sister  also,  was  chiefly  written  by  Davenant.  It  was 
acted  at  the  Duke's  Theatre  in  1667.  A  perusal  of  it, 
with  its  affectation,  its  prettiness,  and  its  indelicacy,  will 
convince  the  reader  of  the  truth  of  a  couplet  in  Dryden^s 
prologue  :— 

•*  Bnt  Shakespeare's  magic  could  not  copied  be, 
Within  that  circle  none  durst  walk  but  he." 

The  comedy  of  "  The  Evening's  Love ;  or,  The  Mock 
Astrologer,"  was  produced  in  1668.  Evelyn  refers  to  it 
as  "  a  foolish  plot,  and  very  profane,"  *  and  expresses  his 
regret  "  to  see  how  the  stage  was  degenerated  and  polluted 
by  the  licentious  times."  Pepys,  though  not  very  fastidious, 
was  "  troubled  at  it,"  pronouncing  it  "very  smutty,  and 
nothing  so  good  as  The  Maiden  Queen,*'  He  adds,  on  the 
publisher's  authority,  that  Dry  den  himself  thought  it  only 
"  a  fifth-rate  play."  It  is  founded  on  "  Le  Feint  Astro- 
logue,"  by  Corneille  the  younger,  which,  in  its  turn,  owed 
the  breath  of  life  to  Calderon's  ''  El  Astrologo  Fingido,'* 
of  Calderon.  The  quarrelling  scene  in  the  fourth  act  is 
taken  almost  bodily  from  Moliere's  "  Le  Depit  Amoreux." 
There  is  liveliness  enough  and  to  spare  in  the  comedy,  but 
it  reminds  one  of  a  man  disporting  in  muddy  water.  The 
critical  preface  attached  to  it  is  in  Dryden's  best  style. 

We  subjoin  the  dramatis  persona  and  original  cast:— 
Wildblood  and  Bellamy,  two  young  English  gentlemen, 
Mr.  Hart,  and  Mr.  Mohun ;  Maskall,  their  servant,  Mr.  Shat- 

*  Some  of  the  characters  mpet  in  the  dark  in  a  chapel,  whereupon  Dryden 
puts  in  the  mouth  of  one  of  them  the  following  brilliant  jest  :  — 

"  Wild. — There's  no  knowing  them,  they  are  all  children  of  darkness. 

Bell. — I'll  be  sworn  they  have  one  sign  of  godliness  among  them,  there's 
no  distinction  of  persons  here." 


166 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


terel ;  Don  Alonzo  de  Eibera,  an  old  Spanish  gentleman,  Mr. 
Wintershal  ;  Don  Lopez  de  Gamboa,  a  young  noble 
Spaniard,  Mr.  Burt  ;  Don  Melcher  de  Guzman,  a  gentle- 
man of  a  great  family,  but  of  a  decayed  fortune,  Mr. 
Lydal ;  Donna  Theodosia,  and  Donna  Jacintba,  daughters 
to  Don  Alonzo,  Mrs.  Bartell,  and  Mrs.  Ellen  Gwynn  ; 
Donna  Aurelia,  their  cousin,  Mrs.  Marshall  ;  Beatrix, 
woman  and  confidante  to  the  two  sisters,  Mrs.  Knipp ; 
Camilla,  woman  to  Aurelia,  Mrs.  Betty  Shute. 

In  Scott^s  opinion,  "  Tyrannic  Love ;  or,  The  Royal 
Martyr/'  is  one  of  Dryden's  most  characteristic  produc- 
tions. "The  character  of  Maximin,  in  particular,  is 
drawn  in  his  boldest  plan,  and  only  equalled  by  that  of 
Almanzor,  in  '  The  Conquest  of  Granada.'  Indeed,  al- 
though in  action,  the  latter  exhibits  a  larger  proportion  of 
that  extravagant  achievement  peculiar  to  the  heroic  drama, 
it  may  be  questioned  whether  the  language  of  Maximin 
does  not  abound  more  with  the  flights  of  fancy,  which 
hover  betwixt  the  confines  of  the  grand  and  the  bombast 
and  which  our  author  himself  has  aptly  termed  the  Dali- 
lahs  of  the  theatre."  To  us  it  seems  a  curiously  unequal 
play ;  passages  of  real  beauty  and  sublimity  alternating 
with  the  wildest  outbursts  of  extravagance.  Some  of  the 
happiest  strokes  in  Buckingham's  "  Eehearsal "  are 
levelled  at  these  tumidities. 

t(  Tyrannic  Love  "  was  produced  at  the  King's  Theatre 
in  the  spring  of  1609,  with  the  following  cast:  Maximin, 
Tyrant  of  Rome,  Major  Mohun ;  Porphyrins,  Captain  of 
the  Praetorian  Bands,  Mr.  Hart ;  Charinus,  the  Emperor's 
son,  Mr.  Harris ;  Placidius,  a  great  officer,  Mr.  Kynaston ; 
Valerius  and  Albinus,  Tribunes  of  the  Army,  Mr.  Lydall 
and  Mr.  Littlewood ;  Nigrinus,  a  Tribune  and  Conjurer, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.         167 

Mr.  Beeston  ;  Amariel,  guardian -angel  to  S.  Catherine, 
M.  Bell;  ApoUonius,  a  Heathen  Philosopher;  Berenice, 
wife  to  Maximin,  Mrs.  Marshall  ;  Valeria,  daughter  to 
Maximin,  Mrs.  Ellen  Gwynn  ;  S.  Catherine,  Princess 
of  Alexandria,  Mrs.  Hughes ;  Felicia,  her  mother,  Mrs. 
Knipp ;  Erotion  and  Cydon,  attendants,  Mrs.  Uphill  and 
Mrs.  Eastland. 

At  the  close  of  the  play,  Valeria  (Nell  Gwynn)  is  about 
to  be  carried  off  dead  by  the  bearers,  but  revives  in  order 
to  speak  the  epilogue.  It  was  in  this  part,  so  runs  the 
story,  that  Mistress  Gwynn  completed  her  conquest  of 
Charles  II. 

Here  is  Taine's  estimate  of  this  once  celebrated 
play  :— 

"  The  royal  martyr  is  St.  Catberine,  a  princess  of  Eoyal 
blood  as  it  appears,  who  is  brought  before  the  tyrant  Maxi- 
min. She  confesses  her  faith,  and  a  pagan  philosopher, 
ApoUonius,  is  set  loose  against  her,  to  refute  her.  Maxi- 
min says  :— 

'War  is  my  province  ? — Priest,  why  stand  you  mute  ? 
You  gain  by  heaven,  and,  therefore,  should  dispute.' 

Thus  encouraged,  the  priest  argues  ;  but  St.  Catherine 
replies  in  the  following  words  : — 

*  .     .     .     .    Reason  with  your  fond  religion  fights, 
For  many  gods  are  many  infinites  ; 
This  to  the  first  philosophers  was  known, 
Who,  under  various  names,  adored  but  one.' 

ApoUonius  scratches  his  ear  a  little,  and  then  answers  that 
there  are  great  truths  and  good  moral  rules  in  paganism. 
The  pious  logician  immediately  replies  : — 

'Then  let  the  whole  dispute  concluded  be 
Betwixt  these  rules,  and  Christianity.' 

Being  nonplussed,  ApoUonius  is  converted  on  the  spot. 


168 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  J 


insults  the  prince,  who,  finding  St.  Catherine  very  beauti- 
ful, becomes  suddenly  enamoured,  and  makes  jokes  : — 

•  Absent,  I  may  her  martyrdom  decree, 

But  one  look  more  will  make  that  martyr  me.' 

In  this  dilemma  he  sends  Placidius,  '  a  great  officer,'  to 
St.  Catherine  ;  the  great  officer  quotes  and  praises  the  gods 
of  Epicurus  ;  forthwith  the  lady  propounds  the  doctrine  of 
final  causes,  which  upsets  that  of  atoms.  Maximin  comes 
himself  and  says :— 

*  Since  you  neglect  to  answer  my  desires, 
Know,  princess,  you  shall  burn  in  other  fires.' 

Thereupon  she  beards  and  defies  him,  calls  him  a  slave, 
and  walks  off*.  Touched  by  these  delicate  manners,  he 
wishes  to  marry  her  lawfully,  and  to  repudiate  his  wife. 
Still,  to  omit  no  expedient,  he  employs  a  magician,  who 
utters  invocations  (on  the  stage),  summons  the  infernal 
spirits,  and  brings  up  a  troop  of  demons  who  dance  and 
sing  voluptuous  songs  about  the  bed  of  St.  Catherine. 
Her  guardian-angel  comes  and  drives  them  away.  As  a 
last  resource,  Maximin  has  a  wheel  brought  on  the  stage, 
on  which  to  expose  St.  Catherine  and  her  mother.  Whilst 
the  executioners  are  going  to  strip  the  saint,  a  modest 
angel  descends  in  the  nick  of  time,  and  breaks  the  wheel ; 
after  which  the  ladies  are  carried  off*,  and  their  throats  are 
cut  behind  the  wings.  Add  to  these  pretty  inventions  a 
two-fold  intrigue,  the  love  of  Maximin's  daughter,  Valeria, 
for  Porphyrius,  captain  of  the  Prsetorian  bands,  and  that 
of  Porphyrius  for  Berenice,  Maximin^s  wife ;  then  a  sudden 
catastrophe,  three  deaths,  and  the  triumph  of  the  good 
people,  who  get  married,  and  interchange  polite  phrases. 
Such  is  the  tragedy,  which  is  called  French-like." 
But,  in  truth,  there  is  little  that  is  French-like,  except 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


169 


the  form,  in  the  Eestoration  drama.  Take  away  the  heroic 
couplets,  and  it  is  the  Elizabethan  drama,  with  such  modi- 
fications as  the  changes  of  taste  in  half  a  century  neces- 
sitated. Dry  den  is  not  uncleaner  than  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  only  he  lacks  their  dramatic  genius,  and,  instead 
of  the  profound  pathos  and  strenuous  passion  which  to  so 
larire  an  extent  redeemed,  almost  refined,  their  coarse- 
ness— instead  of  their  graceful  fancy  and  lyrical  pro- 
fuseness — he  assists  us  to  bombast  and  extravagance,  to 
unreal  sentiment,  and  to  excessive  sensuality.  The  Ee- 
storation drama  is,  we  repeat,  the  Elizabethan  drama, 
without  its  finer  qualities,  and  degraded  down  to  the  level 
of  the  rakes  and  fops  and  frail  beauties  who  were  its  prin- 
cipal patrons.  That  the  dramatists  of  Charles  II.'s  reign  pil- 
fered their  plots  and  often  their  dialogues  from  the  French 
is,  indeed,  true ;  but  they  never  did  so  without  superad- 
ding upon  their  stolen  material  a  native  layer  of  vehemence 
and  waywardness.  They  plundered  nothing  else  ;  nothing 
of  that  order,  moderation,  and  decorum  which  distin- 
guished a  Corneille,  a  Racine,  and  a  Moliere.  We  are 
compelled  to  agree  with  the  French  critic  when  he  re- 
pudiates the  judgment  which  would  associate  the  heroic 
dramas  of  Dryden  with  the  masterpieces  of  the  French 
tragedy.  The  resemblance  is  superficial.  Who  can  really 
compare  the  noble  and  chivalrous  heroes  of  the  French 
tragic  poets  with  the  swash-bucklers,  the  harlot-mongers, 
the  rakes,  who  figure  upon  Dryden's  stage?  But  Eacine 
wrote  for  the  decorous,  if  artificial,  Court  of  Louis  XIV. ; 
Dryden  for  that  of  Charles  II.,  which  had  neither  piety 
nor  refinement,  neither  generosity  nor  truth.  ''  Panders 
and  licentious  women,  ruffianly  or  butchering  courtiers, 
who  went  to  see  Harrison  drawn,  or  to  mutilate  Coventry, 


170 


THE    MERKY   MONARCH  ; 


4 


i 


maids  of  honour  who  have  awkward  accidents  at  a  ball,"^ 
or  sell  to  the  planters  the  convicts  presented  to  them,  a 
palace  full  of  baying  dogs  and  bawling  gamesters,  a  king 
who  would  bandy  obscenities  in  public  with  his  half-naked 
mistresses, --such  was  this  illustrious  society  ;  from  French 
modes  they  took  but  dress,  from  French  noble  sentiments 
but  high-sounding  words." 

One  of  the  most  popular  of  Dryden's  heroic  dramas  was 
"The  Conquest  of  Granada  by  the  Spaniards,"  in  two 
partsjt  produced  in  the  spring  of  1670,  at  the  Theatre 
Koyal,  but  not  published  until  1 072.  Its  hero,  Almanzor,  is 
the  original  of  Drawcansir  in  Buckingham's  "  Rehearsal," 
where  some  of  Dryden's  exuberant  outbursts  are  felici- 
tously parodied.  The  plot,  which  owes  something  to  Made- 
moiselle de  Scuderi's  romances,  and  something  to  history, 
is  without  doubt  interesting  and  ingeniously  developed ; 
and  the  lamruasre,  thoufjli  too  often  bombastic  and  extra- 
vagant,  is  enriched  with  many  of  those  purptirei  jpanni 
which  the  poet  had  always  at  his  free  disposal.  There 
are,  as  Scott  says,  not  a  few  passages  which  convey  what 
the  poet  desired  to  represent — the  aspirations  of  a  mind 
so  heroic  as  almost  to  surmount  the  bonds  of  society,  and 
even  the  laws  of  the  universe,  "  leaving  us  often  in  doubt 
whether  the  vehemence  of  the  wish  does  not  even  disguise 
the  impossibiHty  of  its  accomplishment."     As  thus  : — 

"  Good  Heavens  1  thy  book  of  fate  before  me  lay, 
But  to  tear  out  the  journal  of  this  day, 
Or,  if  the  order  of  the  world  below 
Will  not  the  joys  of  one  whole  day  allow, 
Give  me  that  minute  when  she  made  her  vow. 
That  minute,  e'en  the  happy  from  their  bliss  might  give, 
And  those  who  live  in  grief  a  shorter  time  would  live. 

*  The  story,  not  a  very  nice  one,  is  told  by  Pepys,  and  in  the  "  Memoirs 
of  the  Count  de  Grammont." 

\  The  second  part  has  the  separate  title  of  "  Almanzor  and  Almahide." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.         171 

So  small  a  link,  if  broke,  the  external  chain 

Would,  like  divided  waters,  join  again. 

It  cannot  be  ;  the  fugitive  is  gone, 

Pressed  by  the  crowd  of  following  minutes  on  : 

That  precious  moment's  out  of  nature  fled. 

And  in  the  heap  of  common  rubbish  laid, 

Of  things  that  once  have  been,  and  now  decayed." 

Again : — 

**  No,  there  is  a  necessity  in  fate, 

Why  still  the  brave  bold  man  is  fortunate ; 

He  keeps  his  object  ever  full  in  sight. 

And  that  assurance  holds  him  firm  and  right. 

True,  'tis  a  narrow  path  that  leads  to  bliss, 

But  right  before  there  is  no  precipice  : 

Fear  makes  men  look  aside,  and  then  their  footing  miss." 

Again  : — 

'*  Man  makes  his  fate  according  to  his  mind.* 
The  weak  low  spirit  Fortune  makes  her  slaves 
But  she's  a  drudge  when  hectored  by  the  brave : 
If  fate  weaves  common  thread,  he'll  change  the  doom, 
And  with  new  purple  spread  a  nobler  loom." 

The  following  sketch  of  the  plot  and  incidents  of  what 
is  undoubtedly  "  the  representative  piece  of  heroic  drama," 
is  freely  adapted  from  Mr.  Saintsbury : — 

Under  its  last  sovereign,  Boabdelin,  the  Moorish  king- 
dom of  Granada  is  convulsed  by  the  feuds  of  the  two 
great  rival  families  of  the  Abencerrages  and  the  Zegrys. 
These  break  out  into  open  tumult  at  a  festival  held  in  the 
capital.  A  stranger  takes  the  part  of  the  weaker  side, 
and  ignoring  the  King's  commands  to  desist,  kills  one  of 
the  opposite  leaders.  Seized  by  Boabdelin's  guards,  and 
ordered  for  execution,  he  is  discovered  to  be  Almanzor,  a 
warrior  lately  arrived  from  Africa,  where  he  has  done  good 
service  for  the  Moors  in  their  struggle  against  the 
Spaniards.  He  is  accordingly  released,  and  addressing 
the  factions   in  swelling  words,  compels  them  to  desist 

*  A  distinct  echo  of  Fletcher's  "  Man  is  his  own  star." 


172 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  : 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


173 


ll 


from  their  strife.  To  the  Duke  of  Arcos,  the  Spanish 
ambassador,  who  offers  peace  on  hard  conditions,  he 
haughtily  replies  that 

"  The  Moors  have  Heaven,  and  me,  to  assist  their  cause," 

and  the  Duke  thereupon  retires.  Almahide,  the  King's 
betrothed,  sends  a  messenger  to  invite  him  to  attend  a 
zamhra,  or  Moorish  dance ;  but  Almanzor  insists  upon  a 
sally  against  the  Spaniards,  as  a  preliminary,  and  the  act 
ends  with  the  departure  of  the  warriors. 

The  second  opens  with  the  triumphal  return  of  the 
Moors,  bringing  the  Duke  of  Arcos  as  Almanzor's 
prisoner.  Enter  Lyndaxara,  sister  of  Zulema,  the  Zegry 
chief,  the  had  heroine  of  the  play,  to  whom  Abdalla,  the 
King's  brother,  makes  violent  love,  and  is  consoled  with 
the  intimation  that  were  he  king  his  suit  would  not  be 
unsuccessful.  Lyndaxara's  ambition  is  sustained  by  her 
brother's  factious  hostility,  and  the  act  ends  with  the  for- 
mation of  a  conspiracy  against  Boabdelin,  in  which  it  is 
hoped  to  engage  the  invincible  Almanzor. 

The  third  act  in  its  opening  scene  recalls  Shakespeare's 
"  Henry  IV. /'  Almanzor  raging  against  Boabdelin  for  the 
same  reason  that  Hotspur  rages  against  the  Lancastrian 
monarch.  He  is  therefore  disposed  to  join  Abdalla,  while 
Abdelmelech,  the  Abencerrage  chief,  is  introduced  in  a 
very  amorous  scene  as  that  prince's  rival  for  the  hand  of 
Lyndaxara.  The  promised  zamhra,  or  dance,  takes  place, 
and  while  the  King  and  his  Court  are  engaged  by  it, 
Almanzor,  Abdalla,  and  the  Zegry s  rise  in  revolt,  defeat 
the  royal  troops,  drive  back  the  King,  and  capture  Alma- 
hide. Struck  by  her  beauty,  Almanzor  claims  her  as  his 
prisoner,  with  the  view  of  releasing  her,  but  as  Zulema 
opposes,  Abdalla  refuses  the  request,  and  Almanzor  im- 


mediately betakes  himself  to  the  citadel,  and  offers  hm 
services  to  Boabdelin.  They  are  gladly  accepted,  and  of 
course  the  tables  are  at  once  turned,  and  the  Zegry s 
defeated.  Then  Almanzor  renews  his  suit  to  Almahide, 
who  refers  him  to  her  father,  and  at  the  same  time  gently 
rebukes  her  lover's  swelling  arrogance  :— 

"  I  do  your  merit  all  the  right  I  can  ; 
Admiring  virtue  in  a  private  man : 
I  only  wish  the  King  may  grateful  be, 
And  that  my  father  with  my  eyes  may  see. 
Might  I  not  make  it  as  my  last  request- 
Since  humble  carriage  suits  a  suppliant  best- 
That  you  would  somewhat  of  your  fierceness  hide — 
That  inborn  fire  —I  do  not  call  it  pride." 

Almanzor  answers  in  the  true  heroic  vein  :— 

"  Bom,  as  I  am,  still  to  command,  not  sue, 
Yet  you  shall  see  that  I  can  beg  for  you  ; 
And  if  3'our  father  will  require  a  crown, 
Let  him  but  name  the  kingdom,  'tis  his  own. 
I  am,  but  while  I  please,  a  private  man , 
I  have  that  soul  which  empires  first  began. 
From  the  dull  crowd,  which  every  king  does  lead, 
I  will  pick  out  whom  I  will  chose  to  head  : 
The  best  and  bravest  souls  I  can  select. 
And  on  their  conquered  necks  my  throne  erect." 

In  the  fifth  act  Lyndaxara  holds  against  both  parties  a 
fort  which  has  been  entrusted  to  her,  and  from  without 
the  walls  she  and  they  hold  parley  in  extravagant  terms. 
Almanzor  prefers  his  suit  to  Almahide's  father  and  to 
King  Boabdelin,  but  meeting  with  no  encouragement 
from  either,  breaks  out  into  violence.  He  is  overpowered 
and  bound.  His  life,  however,  is  generously  spared,  and 
the  truculent  hero,  after  a  parting  scene  with  the  virtuous 
Almahide,  retires  from  the  city,  leaving  BoabdeHn  and 
Almahide  to  celebrate  their  nuptials. 

The  first  act  of  the  second  part  takes  us  to  Granada, 


174 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


'where  tlie  unfortunate  Boabdelin  is  vexed  by  tlie  mutinies 
originating  in  the  expulsion  of  Almanzor,  and  is  com- 
pelled to  entreat  Queen  Almahide  to  recall  her  lover. 
There  is  then  a  good  deal  of  fighting,  the  object  of  which 
is  far  from  clear,  but  it  centres  about  Lyndaxara's  castle, 
which  falls  eventually  into  the  hands  of  the  Duke  of 
Arcos,  and  the  renegade  Abdalla,  who  has  joined  the 
Spaniards.  Now  Almanzor  reappears,  to  repeat  the  pro- 
fessions of  his  violent  love.  Boabdelin's  jealousy  takes 
alarm,  much  to  the  indignation  of  Almahide,  whose  in- 
dignation provokes  that  of  Almanzor,  so  that  confusion 
becomes  "  worse  confounded."  There  is  more  fighting 
around  Lyndaxara's  castle ;  after  which  appears  the  ghost 
of  Almanzor^s  mother,  apparently  for  no  other  reason  than 
to  show  that  the  hero  is  no  more  afraid  of  ghosts  than  he 
is  of  Spaniards.  More  love — the  drama  is  wholly  occupied 
with  love  and  fighting — and  then  Zulema  accuses  Almahide 
of  having  broken  her  marriage  vow  with  Abdelmelech. 
Though  tortured  with  jealous  suspicions  unworthy  of  a 
heroic  soul,  Almanzor  undertakes  the  wager  of  battle  on 
her  behalf,  and  triumphantly  vindicates  her  innocence.  It 
is  not  unnatural  that  Almahide,  thus  proven  innocent, 
should  abandon  the  husband  who  has  doubted  her,  and  in 
a  scene  with  Almanzor,  which  follows,  she  permits  it  to  be 
seen  that  his  passion  is  not  unacceptable.  The  jealous 
King  has  been  a  spectator  of  the  interview,  and  assails  the 
Queen  with  fresh  accusations,  and  goodness  knows  what 
would  happen  were  it  not  that,  just  at  the  right  moment, 
the  Spaniards  attack  and  capture  the  city.  Boabdelin 
dies  fighting ;  Lyndaxara,  as  a  reward  for  the  assistance 
she  has  traitorously  given  the  enemies  of  the  people,  is 
proclaimed  queen ;   but  the  dagger  of  Abdelmelech  cuts 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


175 


short  her  reign  and  her  life.  Strange  to  tell,  Almanzor 
turns  out  to  be  the  long-lost  son  of  the  Duke  of  Arcos, 
and  Almahide,  at  the  instigation  of  Queen  Isabella,  con- 
sents, when  her  year  of  widowhood  has  expired,  to  reward 
his  devotion. 

*^  Almanzor. — Move  swiftly,  sun,  and  fly  a  lover's  pace  ; 

Leave  weeks  and  months  behind  thee  in  thy  race  1 
King  Ferd. — Meantime  you  bh a  11  my  victories  pursue, 

The  Moors  in  woods  and  mountains  to  subdue. 
Almanzor, — The  toils  of  war  shall  help  to  wear  each  day, 

And  dreams  of  love  shall  drive  my  nights  away. — 
Our  banners  to  the  Alhambra's  turrets  bear, 
Then,  wave  our  conquering  crosses  in  the  air, 
And  cry,  with  shouts  of  triumph — Live  and  reign, 
Great  Ferdinand  and  Isabel  of  Si)aiu  !  " 

This  summary  takes  no  account  of  the  underplot  of  love 
between  Osmyn  and  Benzayda,  which,  in  its  moderation 
and  sweetness,  comes  as  a  pleasant  relief  to  the  more 
"  heroic  "  portion  of  the  drama. 

To  the  quotations  already  made  we  may  add  the  follow- 
ing :— 

"As  one  who,  in  some  frightful  dream,  would  shun 
His  pressing  foe,  labours  in  vain  to  run  ; 
And  his  own  slowness,  in  his  sleep,  bemoans,' 
With  thick  short  sighs,  weak  cries,  and  tender  groans." 

"  Ahdal. — Reason  was  given  to  curb  our  headstrong  will. 
Zul. — Reason  but  shows'a  weak  physician's  skill ; 
Gives  nothing,  while  the  raging  fit  does  last. 
But  stays  to  cure  it,  when  the  worst  is  past." 

"  A  blush  remains  on  a  forgiven  face. 
It  wears  the  silent  tokens  of  disgrace. 
Forgiveness  to  the  injured  does  belong, 
But  they  ne'er  pardon  who  have  done  the  wrong." 

When  first  acted  the  principal  characters  were  supported 
by  Kynaston  (Boabdelin),  Lydall  (Abdalla),  Mohun, 
(Abdelmelech),  Harris  (Zulema),  Cartwright  (Abenamar), 
Euston  (Osmyn),  and  Hart  (Almanzor).  The  Almahide 
was  Nell  Gwynn  (who  spoke  the  prologue  in  a  colossal 


I 


176 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


177 


broad-brimmed  hat,  in  ridicule  of  one  worn  by  Noakes, 
tlie  comedian).*    Mrs.  Marshall  was  Lyndaxara,  and  Mrs 
Boutell  Benzayda. 

The  epilogue  to  this  play  was  written  with  such  bold 
and  frank  self-assertion  that  Dryden  found  it  necessary  to 
write  a  defence  of  it,  which  he  developed  into  a  very  in- 
teresting "  Essay  on  the  Dramatic  Art  of  the  Last  Ages/^ 
The  epilogue,  we  may  note,  was  attacked  with  much 
severity  by  Rochester. 

One  of  Dryden's  most  popular  comedies  was  "  Marriage 
ila  Mode,"  acted  by  "His  Majesty's  Servants"  at  the 
Theatre  Eoyal  in  1673.  The  comic  scenes  are  written 
with  what  seems  to  have  been  a  spontaneous  vivacity ; 
nowhere  is  the  dramatist's  humour  more  sprightly  or  less 
forced.  Had  the  whole  play  been  written  in  the  same 
strain,  it  would  have  ranked  with  the  best  of  the  comedies 
of  the  Restoration ;  but  the  tragic  scenes  are  very  poor. 

Being  a  comedy  by  Dryden,  it  is  necessarily  gross, 
and  this  grossness  must  always  prevent  the  general 
recognition  of  its  lively  wit.  We  cannot  but  repeat 
our  surprise  that  a  man  of  Dryden's  genius,  a  man 
so  capable— as  his  heroic  dramas,  in  spite  of  their 
extravagance,  abundantly  show— of  sympathising  with 
noble  thoughts  and  aspirations,  should  have  descended 
to  such  lewd  excess.  We  feel  that  he  revels  in  his 
own  nastiness;  he  cannot  make  even  the  poor  excuse 
that  it  was  forced  upon  him  by  his  audiences,  for  it  is 
tolerably  certain  that  they  were  frequently  shocked  by  his 
profuse  and  premeditated  ribaldry.  The  jests  against 
marriage  are  so  numerous  and  so  severe  as  to  suggest  the 

*  The  prologue  Fays : —  .  ,  ^  j.j     • 

"  This  is  that  hat  whose  very  sight  did  win  ye_ 
To  laugh  and  clap  as  though  the  devil  were  m  ye. 
As  then,  for  Noakes,  so  now  I  hope  youll  be 
So  duU,  to  laugh  once  more  for  love  of  me.' 


idea  that  Dryden  sought  by  these  sharp  arrows  of  ridicule 
to  revenge  the  unhappiness  of  his  own  married  condition. 
Was  his  wife  a  shrew  ? 

On  the  whole,  we  agree  with  a  recent  critic,"^  that  Dry- 
den, as  a  dramatist,  does  not  present  an  edifying  figure. 
"  His  sins  against  morality,  against  humanity,  are  flag- 
rant. In  the  world  that  he  presents  upon  the  stage 
'sweetness  and  light ^  have  no  place.  To  say  that  he 
offends  against  modesty  would  be  to  say  little ;  but  in  his 
comedies  Dryden  ignores  the  existence  of  virtue.  His  men 
and  women  live  solely  for  intrigue,  his  mirth  is  the  hollow 
laughter  of  the  brothel.  Even  in  his  heroic  plays  this  vice 
exhibits  itself  in  unexpected  places,  as  though  he  could  not 
for  the  life  of  him  avoid  making  a  palpably  gross  sug- 
gestion ;  but  in  such  comedies  as  -'  Marriage  a  la  Mode/ 
'The  Wild  Gallant,'  'An  Evening's  Love'  (which  dis- 
gusted even  Pepys),  and  '  Limberham,'  impurity  reigns 
triumphant.  Dryden  did  not  understand,  althouf>"h  he 
had  Shakespeare  to  teach  him,  that  comedy  may  be  made 
a  vehicle  for  the  loveliest  poetry,  for  the  sanest  and  yet 
the  most  imaginative  views  of  life  ;  and  looking  at  what 
he  has  done  in  this  way,  we  are  not  surprised  that  he 
should  have  written :  ^  1  think  it  in  its  own  nature  in- 
ferior to  all  sorts  of  dramatic  writinfj.' " 

The  first  cast  of  characters  is  thus  given  : — Polydamas, 
Wintershal ;  Leonidas,  Kynaston  ;  Argaleon,  Ly dall; 
Hermogenes,  Cartwright ;  Eubulus,  Watson ;  Rhodophil, 
Mohun ;  Palamede,  Hart ;  Palmyra,  Mrs.  Coxe ;  Amalthea, 
Mrs.  James ;  Doralice,  Mrs.  Marshall ;  Melantha,  Mrs. 
Boutell ;  Philotis,  Mrs.  Eeeve  ;  Beliza,  Mrs.  Slade  ;  Arte- 
mis, Mrs.  Uphill. 

*  The  Athenoeum,  p.  342,  March  15, 1884. 
VOL.    I.  N 


f 


178 


THE    MEEET   MONAECH  ; 


OB,    ENGLAND   TJNDEE   CHAELES   II. 


179 


It  is,  however,  generally  stated  that  Mrs.  Montfort  was 
the  original  Melantha,  and 

"  Almost  moved  the  thing  the  poet  thought." 

Colley  Gibber  has  a  well-known  passage  in  her  praise  :— 
"  Melantha,"  he  says,  "  is  as  finished  an  impertinent  as 
ever  fluttered  in  a  drawing-room ;  and  seems  to  contain 
the  most  complete  system  of  female  foppery  that  could 
possibly  be  crowded  into  the  tortured  form  of  a  fine  lady. 
Her  language,  dress,  motion,  manners,  soul,  and  body  are 
in  a  continual  hurry  to  be  something  more  than  is  neces- 
sary or  commendable.     And,  though  I  doubt  it  will  be  a 
vain  labour  to  offer  you  a  just  likeness  of  Mrs.  Montfort's 
action,  yet  the  fantastic  expression  is  still  so  strong  in  my 
memory,  that  I  cannot  help   saying  something,  though 
fantastically,  about  it.     The  first  ridiculous  airs  that  break 
from  her,  are  upon  a  gallant,  never  seen  before,  who  de- 
livers her  a  letter  from  her  father,  recommending  him  to 
her  good  graces  as  an  honourable  lover.     Here,  now,  one 
would  think  she  might  naturally  show  a  little  of  the  sex's 
decent  reserve,  though  never  so  lightly  covered.    No,  sir, 
not  a  tittle  of  it.     Modesty  is  a  poor-souled  country- 
gentlewoman  ;  she  is  too  much  a  court-lady  to  be  under 
so  vulgar  a  confession.     She  reads  the  letter,  therefore, 
with  a^careless,  dropping  lip,  and  an  erected  brow,  hum- 
ming it  hastily  over,  as  if  she  were  impatient  to  outgo  her 
father's  commands  by  making  a  complete  conquest  of  him 
at  once ;  and  that  the  letter  might   not  embarrass  the 
attack,  crack !  She  crumbles  it  at  once  into  her  palm,  and 
poiirs  down  upon  him  her  whole  artillery  of  airs,  eyes,  and 
motion;  down  goes  her  dainty,  diving  body  to  the  ground, 
as  if  she  were  sinking  under  the  conscious  load  of  her  own 
attractions ;  then  launches  into  a  flood  of  fine  language  and 


i 


compliment,  still  playing  her  chest  forward  in  fifty  falls 
and  risings,  like  a  swan  upon  waving  water;  and,  to  com- 
plete her  impertinence,  she  is  so  rapidly  fond  of  her  own 
wit,  that  she  will  not  give  her  lover  leave  to  praise  it. 
Silent  assenting  bows,  and  vain  endeavours  to  speak,  are  all 
the  share  of  the  conversation  he  his  admitted  to,  which,  at 
last,  he  is  removed  from  by  her  engagement  to  half-a-score 
of  visits,  which  she  swims  from  him  to  make,  with  a  pro- 
mise to  return  in  a  twinkling." 

It  is  difficult,  where  all  is  so  gross,  to  find  a  specimen  of 
the  dialogue,  but  the  following  is  eminently  Drydenish, 
and  will  serve  : — 

"3fel—l  declare,  I  had  rather  of  the  two  be  rallied,  nay,  mal  traitee  at 
court,  than  be  deified  in  the  town  ;  for,  assuredly,  nothing  can  be  so  ridicule 
as  a  mere  town  lady. 

Dw.— Especially  at  court.  How  I  have  seen  them  crowd  and  sweat  in  the 
drawing-room  on  a  holiday-night !  For  that's  their  time  to  swarm  and  in- 
vade the  presence.  O,  how  they  catch  at  a  bow,  or  any  little  salute  from  a 
courtier,  to  make  show  of  their  acquaintance !  and,  rather  than  be  thought 
to  be  quite  unknown,  tliey  court'sy  to  one  another  ;  but  they  take  true  pains 
to  come  near  the  circle,  and  press  and  peep  upon  the  princess,  to  write  letters 
into  the  country  how  she  av:is  dressed,  while  the  ladies,  that  stand  about, 
make  their  court  to  her  with  abusing  them. 

Arte.— These  are  sad  truths,  Melantha  :  and  therefore  I  would  e'en  advise 
you  to  quit  the  court,  and  live  either  wholly  in  the  town,  or,  if  you  like  not 
that,  in  the  country. 

Dor.— In  the  country  !  nay,  that's  to  fall  beneath  the  town,  for  they  live 
upon  our  offals  liere.  Their  entertainment  of  wit  is  only  the  remembrance 
of  what  they  heard  when  they  were  last  in  town  ;— they  live  this  year  upon 
the  last  year's  knowledge,  as  their  cattle  do  all  night,  by  chewing  the  cud  of 
what  they  eat  in  the  aiternoon. 

Mel. — And  they  tell,  for  news,  such  unlikely  stories  1  A  letter  from  one  of 
U3  is  such  a  present  to  them,  that  the  poor  souls  wait  for  the  carrier's-day 
with  such  devotion,  that  they  cannot  sleep  the  night  before. 

Arte.—^o  more  than  I  can,  the  night  before  I  am  to  go  a  journey. 

Dor.— Or  I,  before  I  am  to  try  on  a  new  gown. 

Jfel.—A  song,  that's  stale  here,  will  be  new  there  a  twelvemonth  hence ; 
and  if  a  man  of  the  town  by  chance  come  amongst  them,  he  s  reverenced  for 
teaching  them  the  tune. 

jDor.— A  friend  of  mine  who  makes  songs  sometimes,  came  lately  out  of 
the  west,  and  vowed  he  was  so  put  out  of  countenance  with  a  song  of  his  ; 


180 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


for,  at  the  first  country  gentleman's  he  visited,  he  saw  three  tailors  cross- 
legged  upon  the  tahle  in  the  hall,  who  were  tearing  out  as  loud  as  ever  they 

could  sing, 

'After  the  pangs  of  a  desperate  lover,'  *  &c. 

And  that  all  day  he  heard  of  nothing  else,  but  the  daughters  of  the  housej 
and  the  maids,  humming  it  over  in  every  corner,  and  the  father  whistling  it. 

^^.^^.—Indeed,  I  have  observed  of  myself,  that  when  I  am  out  of  town  but 
a  fortnight  I  am  so  humble,  that  I  would  receive  a  letter  from  my  tailor  or 
mercer  for  a  favour. 

Mel.— When  I  have  been  at  grass  in  the  summer,  and  am  now  come  up 
again,  methinks  I'm  to  be  turned  into  ridicule  by  all  that  see  me  ;  but  when 
I  have  been  once  or  twice  at  court,  I  begin  to  value  myself  again,  and  to 
despise  my  country  acquaintance. 

Art.— There  are  places  where  all  people  may  be  adored,  and  we  ought  to 
know  ourselves  so  well  as  to  choose  them. 

j)or. — That's  very  true  ;  your  little  courtier's  wife,  who  speaks  to  the  King 
but  once  a  month,  need  but  go  to  a  town  lady,  and  there  she  may  vapour  and 
(»rjr^_«  The  King  and  I,'  at  every  word.  Your  town  lady,  who  is  laughed 
at  in  the  circle,  takes  her  coach  into  the  city,  and  there's  she  called  Your 
Honour,  and  has  a  banquet  from  the  merchant's  wife,  whom  she  laughs  at  for 
her  kindness.  And,  as  for  any  finical  wit,  she  removes  but  to  her  country 
house,  and  there  insults  over  the  country  gentlewoman  that  never  comes  uji, 
who  treats  her  with  furmity  and  custard,  and  opens  her  dear  bottle  of 
mirabilis  beside,  for  a  gill-glass  of  it  at  parting. 

Arte.— At]a.st,  I  see,  we  shall  leave  Melantha  where  we  found  her  ;  for,  by 
your  description  of  the  town  and  country,  they  are  become  more  dreadful  to 
her  than  the  court,  where  she  was  affronted.  But  you  forget  wu  are  to  wait 
on  the  princess  Amalthea.     Come,  Doralice. 

JDor. — Farewell,  Melantha. 

jVei. — Adieu,  my  dear. 

A7ie.~Yo\i  are  out  of  charity  with  her,  and  therefore  T  shall  not  give  your 

service. 

3Iel.— Do  not  omit  it,  I  l>eserch  you  ;  for  I  have  such  a  te?idre  for  the 
court,  that  I  love  it  even  from  tlie  drawing-room  to  the  lobby,  and  can  never 
be  rebutee  by  any  usage.  But  hark  you,  my  dears  ;  one  thing  I  had  forgot, 
of  great  concernment. 

Dor.—  Quickly,  then,  we  are  in  haste. 

j/eZ.— Do  not  call  it  my  service,  tliat's  too  vulgar  ;  but  do  my  baise-mains 
to  the  princess  Amalthea  ;  that  is  ypiritwlle. 

Ditr, To  do  you  service,  then,  we  will  prendre  the  carnssr  to  court,  and 

do  your  base-mains  to  the  princess  Amaltliea,  in  your  phrase  spiriturlle." 

"  The  Assignation  ;  or,  Love  in  a  Nunnery,"  was  pro- 
duced in  1672.  It  did  not  secure  a  favourable  reception 
from  Dryden's  contemporaries,  and  posterity  has   agreed 

*  A  song  of  Dry  den's  own,  in  "An  Evening's  Love." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


181 


to  forget  it.  Tradition  hints  that  the  actors  were  dis- 
satisfied with  their  parts,  and  did  not  play  their  best ;  but 
no  acting,  however  brilliant,  could  have  redeemed  the 
insipidity  of  the  dialogue,  the  vulgarity  of  the  motive, 
and  the  dulness  of  the  incidents.  In  his  prologue,  Dryden 
dealt  some  lusty  blows  at  that  wretched  dramatist,  Francis 
Eavenscroft,  whom  the  Mlure  of  "  The  Assignation  "  pro- 
vided, however,  with  an  effective  retort.  In  a  prologue 
to  his  own  play,  "The  Careless  Lovers,"  1673,  Eavens- 
croft exclaims : — 

"  An  author  did,  to  please  you,  let  his  wit  run, 
Of  late,  much  on  a  serving  man  and  cittern ; 
And  yet,  you  would  not  like  the  serenade- 
Nay,  and  you  damned  his  nuns  in  masquerade  .  .  . 
In  fine,  the  whole  by  you  was  so  much  blamed, 
To  act  their  parts  the  players  were  ashamed. 
Ah,  how  severe  your  malice  was  that  day  1 
To  damn,  at  once,  the  poet  and  his  play." 

Dryden  never  sank  so  far  below  himself  in  any  composi- 
tion as  in  his  tragedy  of  "  Amboyna."  It  is,  as  Scott 
remarks,  "The  worst  production  Dryden  ever  wrote." 
The  incident  on  which  it  is  founded— the  horrible  mas- 
sacre of  some  Englishmen  in  the  service  of  the  East 
India  Company  at  Amboyna  by  the  Dutch  authorities 
— was  unfitted  for  dramatic  treatment;  but  on  a  story, 
repulsive  in  itself,  Dryden  has  laid  the  grimmest  colour- 
ing. His  tragedy  converts  the  stage  into  a  shambles  5 
and  the  spectators  must  have  thought  they  were  present 
in  a  torture-chamber  rather  than  in  a  theatre.  The 
characters  are  monstrous  caricatures,  and  the  style  is  not 
less  exaggerated.  The  best  thing  in  it  is  the  following 
spirited  lyric  : — 

"THE  SEA-FIGHT. 

Who  ever  saw  a  noble  sight, 

That  never  viewed  a  brave  sea-fight  ? 

Hang  up  your  bloody  colours  in  the  air, 

Up  with  your  fights  and  your  nettings  prepare ; 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


Your  merry  mates  cheer,  with  a  lusty  boldspi-ight, 

Now  each  man  his  brindice,  and  then  to  the  fight. 

St.  George.  St.  George,  we  cry, 

The  shouting  Turks  reply. 

Oh,  now  it  beghis,  and  the  gun-room  grows  hot, 

Ply  it  with  culverin  and  with  small  shot ; 

Hark,  does  it  not  thunder  I  no  !  'tis  the  guns'  roar, 

The  neighbouring  billows  are  turned  into  gore; 

Now  each  man  must  resolve  to  die, 

For  here  the  coward  cannot  tiy. 

Drums  and  trunii)ets  toll  the  knell, 

And  culverins  tlie  passing  bell. 

Now,  now,  they  grapple,  and  now  board  amain  ; 

Blow  up  the  hatches,  they're  off  all  again  : 

Give  them  a  broadside,  the  dice  run  at  all, 

Down  comes  the  mast  and  yard,  and  taeklings  fall ; 

She  grows  giddy  now,  like  blind  Fortune's  wheel, 

She  sinks  then,  she  sinks,  she  turns  up  her  keel. 

Who  ever  beheld  so  noble  a  sight. 

As  this  so  brave,  so  bloody  sea-fight  ? " 

That  extraordinary  production,  "  The  State  of  Inno- 
cence and  Fall  of  Man,  an  Opera/'  in  which  Drjden  has 
travestied  "Paradise  Lost,^'  appeared  in  1674.  Of  course, 
it  was  not  intended  for  representation  ;  but  it  is  difficult 
to  understand  the  delusion  which  led  Dryden  to  give  a 
dramatic  form  to  a  story  so  ill-adapted  for  it.  We  must 
accept,  we  suppose,  the  excuse  which  Sir  Walter  Scott 
supplies  :  "  The  probable  motive  of  this  alteration,^'  he 
thinks,  "was  the  wish,  so  common  to  genius,  to  exert 
itself  upon  a  subject  in  which  another  had  already 
attained  brilliant  success,  or,  as  Dryden  has  termed  a 
similar  attempt,  the  desire  to  shoot  in  (with  ?)  the  bow  of 
Ulysses."  It  is  reported  by  Mr.  Aubrey  that  the  step 
was  not  taken  without  Dryden's  reverence  to  Milton 
being  testified  by  a  personal  application  for  his  per- 
mission. The  aged  poet,  conscious  that  the  might  of  his 
versification  could  receive  no  addition,  even  from  the 
glowing  numbers  of  Dryden,  is  stated  to  have  answered 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


183 


with  indifference,  "  Ay,  you  may  tag  my  verses,  if  you 

will ! " 

''  The  State  of  Innocence  "  is  dedicated  to  the  Duchess 
of  York,  afterwards  Queen  of  James  II.,  in  a  strain 
of  extravagant  panegyric,  and  prefixed  to  it  is  "The 
Author's  Apology  for  Heroic  Poetry  and  Poetic  Licence," 
in  which  Dryden  refers  to  Milton's  immortal  epic  as 
"being  undoubtedly  one  of  the  greatest,  most  noble, 
and  most  sublime  poems  which  either  this  age  or 
nation  has  produced." 

A  very  favourable  specimen  of  Dryden's  treatment  of 
his  subject  is  furnished  by  Lucifer's  soliloquy  in  Act 
iii.,  s,  1,  2  : — 

*'  Fair  place  !  yet  what  is  this  to  heaven,  where  I 
Sat  next,  so  almost  equalled  the  Most  High  ? 
I  doubted,  measuring  both,  who  was  most  strong; 
Then,  willing  to  forget  time  since  so  long, 
Scarce  thought  I  was  created  :  vain  desire 
Of  empire  in  my  thoughts  still  shot  me  higher, 
To  mount  above  His  sacred  head.     Ah  why. 
When  He  so  kind,  was  so  ungrateful  I  ? 
He  bounteously  bestowed  unenvied  good 
On  me  :  in  arbitrary  grace  I  stood : 
To  acknowledge  this  was  all  He  did  exact ; 
Small  tribute  where  the  will  to  pay  was  act. 
1  mourn  it  now,  unable  to  repent. 
As  he,  who  knows  my  hatred  to  relent. 
Jealous  of  power  once  questioned :  Hope,  farewell ; 
And  with  hope,  fear  ;  no  depth  below  my  hell 
Can  be  prepared :  Then,  111,  be  thou  my  good ; 
And,  vast  destruction,  bo  my  envy's  food. 
Thus  I,  with  Heaven,  divided  empire  gain  ; 
Seducing  man,  I  make  his  project  vain, 
And  in  one  hour  destroy  his  six  days'  pain." 

The  last  of  the  heroic,   or   rhymed  verse,   plays  was 

"  Aureng-Zebe,   a    Tragedy/'    successfully  produced   in 

1676.      In  the   dedication  to  John,    Earl  of   Mulgrave 

(afterwards  Duke  of   Buckinghamshire),   Dryden  says: 


184 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


"  Some  tMngs  in  it  have  passed  your  approbation,  and 
many  your  amendment.  You  were  likewise  pleased  to 
recommend  it  to  the  King's  perusal,  before  the  last  hand 
was  added  to  it,  when  I  received  the  favour  from  him,  to 
have  the  most  considerable  event  of  it  modelled  by  his 
royal  pleasure.  It  may  be  some  vanity  in  me  to  add  his 
testimony  here,  and  which  he  graciously  confirmed  after- 
wards, that  it  was  tlie  best  of  all  my  tragedies ;  in  which 
he  has  made  authentic  my  private  opinion  of  it ;  at  least, 
he  has  given  it  a  value  by  his  commendation,  which  it 
had  not  by  my  writing."  That  it  merited  the  royal 
favour  may,  we  think,  be  conceded.  It  contains  some  of 
those  just  and  forcible  reflections  which  Dryden  could  pour 
out  so  abundantly,  and  embody  in  the  aptest  and  most 
vigorous  language.     As  thus  : — 

"When  I  consider  life,  'tis  all  a  cheat, 

Yet,  fooled  with  hope,  men  favour  the  deceit; 
Trust  on,  and  think  to-morrow  Avill  repay : 
To-morrow's  falser  than  the  former  day ; 
Lies  worse ;  and,  while  it  says,  We  shall  be  blest 
With  some  new  joys,  cuts  off  what  we  possest. 
Strange  cozenage  !  none  would  live  past  years  again, 
Yet  all  hope  pleasure  in  what  yet  remain ; 
And  from  the  dregs  of  life  think  to  receive 
What  the  first  sprightly  morning  could  not  give. 
I'm  tired  with  waiting  for  this  chemic  gold, 
Which  fools  us  young,  and  beggars  us  when  old." 

Again :- 

"  'Tis  not  for  nothing  that  we  life  pursue ; 
It  pays  our  hopes  with  something  still  that's  new  : 
Each  day's  a  mistress,  unen joyed  before  ; 
Like  travellers,  we're  pleased  with  seeing  more. 
Did  you  but  know  what  joys  you  may  attend. 
You  would  not  hurry  to  your  journey's  end." 

In  Davis'  '^  Dramatic  Miscellanies  "  we  read :  "  Dryden's 
last  and  most  perfect  rhyming  tragedy  was  ^  Aureng-Zebe.' 
In  this   play,   the  passions   are   strongly   depicted,  the 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


185 


characters  well  discriminated,  and  the  diction  more 
familiar  and  dramatic  than  in  any  of  his  preceding  pieces. 
Hart  and  Mohun  greatly  distinguished  themselves  in  the 
characters  of  Aureng-Zebe  and  the  Old  Emperor.  Mrs. 
Marshall  was  admired  in  Nourmahal,  and  Kynaston  has 
been  much  extolled  by  Gibber  for  his  happy  expression  of 
the  arrogant  and  savage  fierceness  in  Morat."  Winter- 
shall  was  Amirant;  Mrs.  Coxe,  Indamora;  and  Mrs.  Cor- 
bett,  Melesinda.  When  revived  in  1726,  beautiful  Nancy 
Oldfield  played  Indamora,  and  Mrs.  Gibber  Melesinda,  to 
the  Aureng-Zebe  of  Wilkes  and  the  Morat  of  Booth. 

Dryden  was  now  weary  of  rhymed   dramas,  and  the 
public  taste  had  changed,  influenced  in  a  great  degree  by 
the  sharp  ridicule  of  "  The  Rehearsal."     The  poet  saw  that 
he  must  perforce  seek  a  new  field  for  the  exercise  of  his 
genius  ;  and,  challenging  competition  with  Shakespeare, 
he  produced  the  famous  tragedy  of  "All  for  Love;  or, 
The  World  Well  Lost."      In  this  he  is  inferior  to  the 
great  master;  but,  I  think,  to  him  only.     Pathos,  and 
the   sympathetic  faculty,  and  deep  passion  were  not  at 
Dryden's  command ;  but  in  the  other  qualifications  of  the 
dramatic  writer  he  shows  himself  here  to  be  very  richly 
endowed.     There  is  dignity— there   is   animation— there 
is  strength  ;  besides  a  rare  profusion  of  impressive  figures 
and  images,  and  a  pomp  of  diction  which  compels  our 
admiration.     In  the  following  description  of  Gleopatra's 
voyage  down  the  Gydnus,  the  musical  flow  of  the  versi- 
fication   and    the    richness    of    the    language   are  very 
pleasing : — 

*♦  Ant.— The  tackling  silk,  the  streamers,  waved  with  gold, 
The  gentle  winds  were  lodged  in  purple  sails  ; 
Her  nymphs,  like  Nereids,  round  her  conch  were  placed, 
Where  she,  another  sea-born  Venus,  lay. 


186 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


Orla. — No  more :  I  would  not  hear  it. 

A7it. — Oh,  you  must ! 

She  lay,  and  leant  her  cheek  upon  her  hand, 

And  cast  a  look  so  languishingly  sweet, 

As  if  secure  of  all  beholders'  hearts. 

Neglecting  she  could  take  them  :  Boys,  like  Cupids, 

Stood  fanning,  with  their  painted  wings,  the  winds 

That  played  about  her  face  !     But  if  she  smiled, 

A  darting  glory  seonu'd  to  blaze  abroad  : 

That  man's  desirini,''  eyes  were  never  wearied, 

But  hung  upon  the  object :  To  soft  flutes 

The  silver  oars  kept  time  ;  and  while  they  played, 

The  hearing  gave  new  pleasure  to  the  sight ; 

And  both  to  thought.    'Twas  heaven,  or  somewhat  more  : 

For  she  so  charmed  all  hearts,  that  gazing  crowds 

Stood  panting  on  the  shore,  and  wanted  breath 

To  give  their  welcome  voice." 

We  become  conscious  that  this  is  not  the  highest  poetry- 
only  when  we  read  the  original  of  Shakespeare,  which 
suggested  Drjden^s  glowing  paraphrase.  Taken  by  itself, 
however,  it  must  be  pronounced  most  admirable,  and  in 
luscious  sweetness  equal  to  anything  of  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher's. 

One  of  the  most  animated  scenes  is  the  quarrel  between 
Antony  and  Ventidius.  Here  again  Dryden  has  attempted 
to  bend  the  bow  of  Shakespeare ;  and  though  he  has  not 
succeeded,  yet  he  gives  proof  of  the  possession  of  a 
stalwart  and  strenuous  arm.  It  is  impossible  to  despise 
such  writing  as  the  following  : — 

"Ant. — {Starting  up.) — Art  thou  Ventidius  ? 
Vent, — Are  you  Antony  ? 

I'm  liker  what  I  was,  than  you  to  him 
I  left  you  last. 
Ant. — I'm  angry. 
Fent. — So  am  I. 

Ant. — I  would  be  private  ;  leave  me. 
Vent. — Sir,  I  love  you. 

And  therefore  will  not  leave  you. 
Ant. — Will  not  leave  me  ! 

Where  have  youjearnt  that  answer  ?    Who  am  I  ? 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CUAKLES  II. 


187 


Vent. — 

Ant- 
Vent.- 


Ant,— 


Vent,— 


Ant, — 


Vent,- 
Ant,- 


Vent. 
Ant, 


Vent- 
Ant. 
Vent, 
Ant, 


Vent.- 
Ant,- 

Vent 
Ant. 


My  emperor  ;  the  man  I  love  next  Heaven  : 
If  I  said  more,  I  think  'twere  scarce  a  sin  : 
You're  all  that's  good,  and  god-like. 

-All  that's  wretched. 

You  will  not  leave  me  then  ? 

-'Twas  too  presuming 
To  say  I  would  not ;  but  I  dare  not  leave  you : 
And,  'tis  unkind  in  you  to  chide  me  hence 
So  soon,  when  I  so  far  have  come  to  see  you. 
Now  thou  hast  seen  me,  art  thou  satisfied  ? 
For,  if  a  friend,  thou  hast  beheld  enough  ; 
And,  if  a  foe,  too  much. 

Look,  emperor,  this  is  no  common  dew.         \_Weeping. 
I  have  not  wept  this  forty  years  j  but  now 
My  mother  comes  afresh  into  my  eyes  ; 
I  cannot  help  her  softness. 

By  Heaven,  he  weeps  !  poor,  good  old  man,  he  weeps ! 
The  big  round  drops  course  one  another  down 
The  furrows  of  his  cheeks.— Stop  them,  Ventidius, 
Or  I  shall  blush  to  death  :  they  set  my  shame 
That  caused  them,  full  before  me. 

-I'll  do  my  best. 

-Sure  there's  contagion  in  the  tears  of  friends : 
See,  I  have  caught  it  too.     Believe  me,  'tis  not 
For  my  own  griefs,  but  thine.— Nay,  father  ! 

, — Emperor. 
Emperor  !     Why,  that's  the  style  of  victory  ; 
The  conq'ring  soldier,  red  with  unfelt  wounds, 
Salutes  his  general  so  :  but  never  more 
Shall  that  sound  reach  my  ears. 

I  warrant  you. 

-Actium,  Actium  ;  oh ! 
, — It  sets  too  near  you. 
—Here,  here  it  is ;  a  lump  of  lead  by  day. 

And  in  my  short,  distracted,  nightly  slumbers 
The  hag  that  rides  my  dreams. — 
—Out  with  it ;  give  it  vent. 

— Urge  not  my  shame. 
I  lost  a  battle. — 

. — So  has  Julius  done. 

—Thou  favourest  me,  and  speak'st  not  half  thou  think'st ; 

For  Julius  fought  it  out,  and  lost  it  fairly : 

But  Antony  — 


188 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH. 


Fcnt— Nay,  stop  not. 
Ant. — Antony, — 

Well,  thou  wilt  have  it, — like  a  coward,  fled, 

Fled  while  his  soldiers  fought ;  fled  first,  Ventidius. 

Thou  long'st  to  curse  me,  and  I  give  thee  leave. 

I  know  thou  cam'st  prepared  to  rail. 

Vent. — Up,  up,  for  honour's  sake ;  twelve  legions  wait  you, 

And  long  to  call  you  chief  :  By  painful  journeys 

I  led  tlieni,  patient  both  of  heat  and  hunger, 

Down  from  the  Parthian  marches  to  tlie  Nile. 

Twill  do  you  good  to  ace  their  sunburnt  faces. 

Their  scarred  cheeks  and  chapt  hands  :  there's  virtue  in  them. 

They'll  sell  those  mangled  limbs  at  dearer  rates 

Than  you  their  bands  can  buy. 
-Where  left  you  them  ? 
-I  said  in  Lower  Syria. 
-Bring  them  hither ; 

There  may  be  life  in  these. 
They  will  not  come. 
-Why  didst  thou  mock  my  hopes  with  promised  aids 

To  double  my  despair  ?     They're  mutinous. 
-Most  firm  and  loyal. 
-Yet  they  will  not  march 

To  succour  one.     0  trifler  I 
They  petition 

You  would  make  haste  to  head  them. 

■Fm  besieged. 

■There's  but  one  way  shut  up :  How  came  I  hither? 

-I  will  not  stir. 

They  would  perhaps  desire 

A  better  reason. 

I  have  never  used 

My  soldiers  to  demand  a  reason  of 

My  actions.    Why  did  they  refuse  to  march  7 

They  said  they  would  not  fight  for  Cleopatra. 

Why  should  they  fight  indeed  to  make  her  conquer, 

And  make  you  more  a  slave  ?  to  gain  you  kingdoms 

Which,  for  a  kiss,  at  your  next  midnight  feast, 

You*ll  sell  to  her  ?     Then  she  new-names  her  jewels, 

And  call  this  diamond  such  or  such  a  toy  ; 

Each  pendant  in  her  ear  shall  be  a  province. 
Ant* — Ventidius,  I  allow  your  tongue  free  licence 

On  all  my  other  faults  ;  but,  on  your  life, 

No  word  of  Cleopatra  :  she  deserves 

More  worlds  than  I  can  lose. 


Ant.— 
Vent.— 
Ant.— 

Vent. — 
Ant.— 

Vent- 
Ant.— 

Vent. — 

Ant.— 
Vent.— 

Ant.— 
Vent.—' 

Ant.— 


Vent.—' 


OR,    ENGLAND    UNDER    CHARLES    II. 


189 


Fenf.— Behold  yon  Powers, 

To  whom  you  have  intrusted  human  kind ! 
See  Europe,  Africa,  Asia,  put  in  balance. 
And  all  weighed  down  by  one  light,  worthless  woman 
I  think  the  gods  are  Antony's,  and  give, 
Like  prodigals,  this  nether  world  away 
To  none  but  wasteful  hands. 
Ant — You  grow  presumptuous. 
rent.— I  take  the  privilege  of  plain  love  to  speak. 
Ant.—FMn  love  !  plain  arrogance,  plain  insolence  1 

Thy  men  are  cowards  ;  thou,  an  envious  traitor ; 
Who  under  seeming  honesty,  hast  vented 
The  burden  of  thy  rank,  o'er  flowing  gall. 
O  that  thou  wert  my  equal ;  great  in  arms 
As  the  first  Cc-esar  was,  that  I  might  kill  thee 
Without  a  stain  to  honour  1 

Ve7it.— You  may  kill  me  ; 

You  have  done  more  already,— called  me  traitor. 

Ant.— Art  thou  not  one  ? 

Vent. — For  showing  you  yourself, 

Which  none  else  durst  have  done  ?  but  had  I  bore 
That  name,  which  I  disdain  to  speak  agaii', 
I  needed  not  have  sought  your  abject  fortunes, 
Come  to  penetrate  your  fate,  to  die  with  you. 
What  hindered  me  to  have  led  my  conquering  eagles 
To  fill  Octavius'  bands  ?     I  could  have  been 
A  traitor  then,  a  glorious,  happy  traitor, 
And  not  have  been  so  called. 

Ant. — Forgive  me,  soldier  : 

Pve  been  too  passionate. 

f^ent, — You  thought  me  false  ; 

Thought  my  old  age  betrayed  you  :  kill  mc,  sir. 
Pray  kill  me  :  yet  you  need  not,  your  unkindness 
Has  left  your  sword  no  work. 

Ant.—l  did  not  think  so  ; 

I  said  it  in  my  rage  :   Prythee,  forgive  me, 

W'hy  didst  thou  tempt  my  anger,  by  discovery 

Of  what  I  would  not  bear?  .  .  . 

But  Cleopatra  — 

Go  on  ;  for  I  can  bear  it  now. 

Vent. — No  more. 

Ant— Thou  dar'st  not  trust  my  passion,  but  thou  maj  'st ; 

Thou  only  lov'st,  the  rest  have  flattered  me. 
Fd»f.— Heaven's  blessing  on  your  heart  for  that  kind  word  ! 

May  I  believe  you  love  me  ?     Speak  again. 


190  THE    MERRY   MONAECH  ; 

^ni— Indeed  I  do.    Speak  tLis,  and  this,  and  this.         [Bugging  him. 

Thy  praises  were  unjust ;  but,  I'll  deserve  them. 

And  yet  mend  all.     Do  with  me  what  thou  wilt ; 

Lead  me  to  victory  !    Thou  know'st  the  way. 
Vent. — And,  will  you  leave  this — 
Ant. — Pr'ythee,  do  not  curse  her, 

And  I  will  leave  her  ;  though.  Heaven  knows,  I  love 

Beyond  life,  con(iucst,  empire,  all,  but  honour; 

But  I  will  leave  her. 
Vent. — That's  my  royal  master  ; 

And,  shall  we  fight  ? 
Ant. — I  warrant  thee,  old  soldier. 

Thou  Shalt  behold  mc  once  again  in  iron ; 

And  at  the  head  of  our  old  troops  that  beat 

The  Partliiaiis.  cry  aloud— Come,  follow  me! 

Vent. — Oh,  now  I  hear  my  em})eror  1  in  that  word 

Octavius  It'll.     Gods,  let  me  see  that  day, 

And,  if  I  have  ten  years  behind,  take  all : 

I'll  thank  you  for  the  exchange. 
Ant.—  0,  Cleopatra ! 
Fent. — Again  ? 
Ant.—Tvc  done  :  In  that  last  sigh,  she  went. 

Caesar  shall  know  what  'tis  to  force  a  lover 

From  all  he  holds  most  dear. 
Vent. — Methinks  you  breathe 

Another  soul :  Your  looks  are  more  divine ; 

You  speak  a  hero,  and  you  move  a  god. 

Aiit—Oh,  thou  liast  tired  me ;  my  soul's  up  in  arms, 
And  mans  each  part  about  me  :  Once  again 
That  noble  eagerness  of  fight  has  seized  me  ; 
That  eagerness  with  which  I  darted  upward 
To  Cassius'  camp  :  In  vain  the  steepy  hill 
Opposed  my  way  ;  in  vain  a  war  of  spears 
Sung  round  my  head,  and  planted  on  my  shield  ; 
I  won  the  trenches,  while  my  foremost  men 
Lagged  on  the  plain  below. 

F^n^.— Ye  gods,  ye  gods, 

For  such  another  honour  ! 

j^nt. — Come  on,  my  soldier  ! 

Our  hearts  and  arms  are  still  the  same :  I  long 
Once  more  to  meet  our  foes  ;  that  thou  and  I, 
Like  Time  and  Death,  marching  before  our  troops. 
May  taste  fate  to  them  :  mow  them  out  a  passage, 
And,  entering  where  the  foremost  squadrons  yield, 
Besrin  the  noble  harvest  of  the  field. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


191 


This  is  manly,  vigorous,  and  even  poetical  writing.  The 
blank  verse,  which  Dryden  had  never  before  attempted,  is 
strong  and  fluent,  with  the  cadences  effectively  dis- 
tributed, and  a  skilful  avoidance  of  monotony.  It  is,  of 
course,  inferior  to  Shakespeare's  ;  but  in  its  degree  it  is 
good  and  satisfying. 

Taine  is  no  great  admirer  of  Dryden,  but  he  does  justice 
to  his  "  All  for  Love."     "  The  poet,"  he  says,  "  is  skilful ; 
he  has  planned,  he  knows  how  to  constiuct  a  scene,  to 
represent   the  internal  struggle  by   which  two  passions 
contend  for  a  human  heart.     We  perceive  the  tragical 
vicissitude  of  the  strife,  the  progress  of  a  sentiment,  the 
overthrow  of  obstacles,  the  slow  growth  of  desire  or  wrath, 
to  the  very  instant  when  the  resolution,  rising  up  of  itself 
or  seduced  from  without,  rushes  suddenly  in  one  groove. 
There  are  natural  words  ;  the  poet  writes  and  thinks  too 
genuinely  not  to  discover  them  at  need.    There  are  manly 
characters  :  he  Inmself  is  a  man ;  and  beneath  his  courtier's 
pliability,  his  affectations  as  a  fashionable  poet,  he  has 
retained  his  stern  and  energetic  character." 

When  the  play  was  fii-st  produced,  the  part  of  Antony 
was  played  by  Hart  ;  Ventidius,  Mohun  ;  Dolabella, 
Clarke ;  Alexas,  Goodman ;  Serapion,  Griffin ;  Myris, 
Coxon  ;  Cleopatra,  Mrs.  Boutell ;  and  Octavia,  Mrs. 
Cory.  At  a  later  period  Cleopatra  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Oldfield's  favourite  characters. 

We  must  pass  over  the  comedy  of  "  Limberham ;  or, 
The  Kind  Keeper,"  brought  out  at  the  Duke's  Theatre  in 
Dorset  Gardens  in  1G78,  with  a  brief  reference.  From 
beginning  to  end  it  is  absolute  filth  ;  such  filth  that  even 
a  Eestoration  audience  was  disgusted  with  it,  and  after 
three  representations  it  was  withdrawn  from  the  stage. 


192 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


The  worst  of  it  is  tbat  some  of  the  lewdest  and  most 
ribald  language  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  young  girl,. 
who  is  represented  as  the  only  virtuous  person  in  the 
piece.  No  excuse  can  be  made  for  a  man  of  genius  who 
degrades  himself  in  this  shameless  fashion.  The  com- 
position and  production  of  such  a  play  as  "  Limberham  " 
—the  atmosphere  of  which  is  the  reeking  atmosphere  of 
the  brothel— is  an  indelible  blot  on  Dryden's  character. 
"  Limberham  "  is  supposed  to  have  been  a  caricature  of 
the  Duke  of  Lauderdale ;  but  more  probably  the  Earl  of 
Shaftesbury  was  intended. 

About  this  date  (1679)  Dryden  collaborated  with 
Nathaniel  Lee  in  a  tragedy  on  the  old  classical  story  of 
'« (Edipus,"  in  which  both  poets  show  themselves  at  their 
strongest,  as  if  inspired  by  the  passion  and  pathos  of  the 
subject.  The  phm  was  Dryden's,  and  he  wrote  the  first  and 
third  acts.  Lee's  portion  is,  on  the  whole,  finely  written 
probably  it  was  revised  by  Dryden,  as  the  style  through- 
out preserves  a  remarkable  uniformity.  The  incantation 
scene,  which  is  wholly  Dryden's,  rises  to  a  high  poetic 
level ;  and  the  ghost  of  Laius  is  a  creation  not  altogether 
unworthy  of  Shakespeare.  Indeed,  it  must  be  owned  that 
"  (Edipus  "  is  a  work  of  considerable  merit,  though  the 
incestuous  passion  which  supplies  its  motive  unfits  it  for 
the  modern  stage.  The  story  runs  that  when,  soon  after 
its  first  production,  it  was  performed  at  Dublin,  a  musician 
in  the  orchestra  was  so  strongly  affected  by  the  madness 
of  (Edipus,  that  he  himself  actually  became  delirious. 
This  may  be  untrue  or  exaggerated  ;  but,  as  Scott  remarks, 
when  the  play  was  revived,  "  about  thirty  years  ago,"  the 
audiences  were  unable  to  support  it  to  an  end. 

The  original  cast  was  as  follows  : — (Edipus,  Betterton  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


193 


Adrastus,    Smith;     Creon,    Samford ;   Tiresias,     Harris; 
Ghost    of    Laius,    Williams;    Jocasta,    Mrs.   Betterton; 

Euiydice,  Mrs.  Lee. 

"  Troilus  and  Cressida;  or,  Truth  Found  Too  Late.  A 
Tragedy.  As  it  is  acted  at  the  Duke's  Theatre,"  was 
published  in  1679,  with  a  Preface  containing  the  grounds 
of  Criticism  in  Tragedy.  Compared  with  the  great 
original  of  Shakespeare,  its  demerits  are  only  too  con- 
spicuous ;  the  additions  are  trivial  and  in  bad  taste,  the 
omissions  are  deplorable.  The  delicacy  of  the  beautiful 
old  tale  has  been  grossly  marred  by  the  introduction  of 
ribald  passages  in  Dryden's  worst  style  ;  and  Pandarus, 
whom  even  Shakespeare  has  drawn  somewhat  coarsely,  is 
converted  into  a  loathsome  buffoon. 

The  original  cast  included  Smith  as  Hector,  Betterton 
as  Troilus,  Leigh  as  Pandarus,  Harris  as  Ulysses,  Bow- 
man as  Patroclus,  Underbill  as  Thersites,  Mrs.  Mary  Lee 
as  Cressida,  and  Mrs.  Betterton  as  Andromache. 

"  The  Spanish  Friar ;  or.  The  Double  Discovery,"  was 
acted  at  the  Duke's  Theatre  in  1681.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  popular,  though  not,  perhaps,  one  of  the  best,  of 
Dryden's  dramatic  efforts.  Though  the  plot  is  not,  as 
Johnson  strangely  remarks,  exceedingly  happy  in  its  com- 
bination of  the  tragic  and  comic  elements,  the  situations 
are  worked  up  with  all  the  skill  of  a  practised  playwright. 
In  the  comic  scenes,  the  liveliness  of  the  dialogue  may 
entertain  the  reader;  while  the  broadly  humorous  cha- 
racter of  Dominic  is  developed  with  a  care  and  cunning 
Dryden  does  not  always  exercise.  This  whimsical  exag- 
geration of  a  Roman  Catholic  Priest  was  singularly 
acceptable  to  the  public  at  a  time  when  the  so-called 
Popish    Plot    had    awakened    the    fiercest    passions    of 

VOL.   I.  ^ 


194 


THE  MEERT  MONARCH; 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


195 


t 


M 


religions  bigotry.  It  is  worth  noting  that,  after  the 
Eevolution  of  1688,  this  was  the  first  play  represented  by 
order  of  Queen  Mary  and  in  her  presence. 

"  The  tragic  part/^  says  Scott,  "  has  uncommon  merit. 
The  opening  of  the  drama,  and  the  picture  of  a  besieged 
town  in  the  last  extremity,  is  deeply  impressive,  while  the 
description  of  the  noise  of  the  night  attack,  and  the 
gradual  manner  in  which  the  intelligence  of  its  success 
is  communicated,  arrests  the  attention,  and  prepares  ex- 
pectation for  the  appearance  of  the  hero,  with  all  the 
&:plendour  which  ought  to  attend  the  principal  character  in 
tragedy.  The  subsequent  progress  of  the  plot  is  liable  to  a 
capital  objection,  from  the  facility  with  which  the  Queen, 
amiable  and  virtuous,  as  we  are  bound  to  suppose  her,  con- 
sents to  the  murder  of  the  old  dethroned  monarch." 

Hallara^s  criticism  is  as  follows  :  — 

"'The  Spanish  Friar,'  so  far  as  it  is  a  comedy,  is 
reckoned  the  best  performance  of  Dryden  in  that  line. 
Father  Dominic  is  very  amusing,  and  has  been  copied 
very  freely  by  succeeding  dramatists,  especially  in  the 
Duenna.  But  Dryden  has  no  great  abundance  of  wit  in 
this  or  any  of  his  comedies.  His  jests  are  practical,  and 
he  seems  to  have  written  more  for  the  eye  than  the 
ear.  It  may  be  noted  as  a  proof  of  this,  that  his  stage 
directions  are  unusually  full.  In  point  of  diction,  the 
Spanish  Friar  in  its  tragic  scenes,  and  AU  for  Love,  are 
certainly  the  best  plays  of  Dryden." 

Mr.  Saintsbury's  criticism  is  less  favourable  : — 

" '  The  Spanish  Friar '  [is]  a  popular  piece,  possessed 
of  a  good  deal  of  merit,  from  the  technical  point  of  view 
of  the  playwright;  but  which  I  think  has  been  some- 
what overrated,  as  far  as  literary  excellence  is  concerned. 


The  principal  character  is  no  doubt  amusing,  but  he  is 
heavily  indebted  to  Falstaff  on  the  one  hand  and  to 
Fletcher's  Lopez  on  the  other ;  and  he  reminds  the  reader 
of  both  his  ancestors  in  a  way  which  cannot  but  be 
unfavourable  to  himself.  The  play  is  to  me  most  interest- 
ing, because  of  the  light  it  throws  on  Dryden's  grand 
characteristic,  the  consummate  craftmanship  with  which 
he  could  throw  himself  into  the  popular  feeling  of  the 
hour.  This  '  Protestant  play '  is  perhaps  his  most  notable 
achievement  of  the  kind  in  drama,  and  it  may  be  admitted 
that  some  other  achievements  of  the  same  kind  are  less 

creditable." 
4  In  the  tragedy  of  "  The  Duke  of  Guise,"  written  for  a 
political  purpose  in  1C84,  Dryden  again  found  a  colla- 
borator in  Nat  Lee.  The  Duke  is  undoubtedly  intended 
for  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  and  the  party  significance  of 
the  play  is  obvious  from  beginning  to  end.  At  first  the 
representation  was  prohibited,  nor  was  permission  given 
until  December,  when  Charles  11.  had  finally  determined 
on  severe  measures  against  his  ambitious  son.  The 
reception  was  unfavourable  ;  but  the  Court  party  took  it 
up,  and  eventually  secured  for  it  a  moderate  success.  To 
Dryden  must  be  ascribed  part  of  the  first  act,  the  whole 
of  the  fourth,  and  the  first  part  of  the  fifth.  The 
introduction  of  the  necromancer,  Malicorne,  is  due  to 
Dryden,  who  has  seldom  written  anything  finer  than 
the  last  scene  between  the  magician  and  the  fiend.  The 
reader  may  be  glad  to  have  it  before  him.  It  takes  place  in 
Malicorne's  chamber.  After  a  loud  knocking  at  the  dpor, 
a  servant  enters : — 

"  Mai. — What  noise  is  that? 
Serv, —  An  ill-looked  surly  man, 

With  a  hoarse  voice,  says  he  must  speak  with  you. 


196 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  H. 


197 


I  i 


Mai. — ^Tell  him  I  dedicate  this  day  to  pleasure, 

I  neither  have,  nor  will  have,  business  with  him.  [Exit  Servant. 

What  louder  yet  ?  what  saucy  slave  is  this  ?  IKnock  louder. 

He-enter  Servant. 
Serv, — He  says  you  have,  and  must  have,  business  with  him. 

Come  out,  or  he'll  come  in,  and  spoil  your  mirth. 
Mai, — I  will  not. 
jSter».— Sir,  I  dare  not  tell  him  so;  (Knocking  again  more  jiercely .. 

M.J  hair  stands  up  in  bristles  when  I  see  him ; 

The  dogs  run  into  corners ;  the  spayed  bitch 

Bays  at  his  back,  and  howls. 
jifal, — Bid  him  enter,  and  go  off  thyself.  \_Exit  Servant. 

Enter  Melanax,  ari  hour-glass  in  his  hand,  almost  empty. 

How  dar'st  thou  interrupt  my  softer  hours  ? 

By  heaven,  I'll  ram  thee  in  some  knotted  oak. 

Where  thou  shalt  sigh  and  groan  to  whistling  winds 

Upon  the  lonely  plain,  or  I'll  confine  thee 

Deep  in  the  Red  Sea,  grovelling  on  the  sands. 

Ten  thousand  billows  rolling  o'er  thy  head. 
JIfel.— Oh,  ho,  ho  ! 
Mai. — Laughest  thou,  malicious  fiend  ? 

ril  ope  my  book  of  bloody  characters, 

Shall  crumple  up  thy  tender  airy  limbs, 

Like  parchment  in  a  flame. 
Mel. — Thou  canst  not  do  it. 

Behold  this  hour-glass. 
Jifal, — Well,  and  what  of  that  ? 
Mel. — Seest  thou  then  these  ebbing  sands  ? 

They  run  for  thee,  and  when  their  race  is  run. 

Thy  lungs,  the  bellows  of  thy  mortal  breath. 

Shall  sink  for  ever  down,  and  heave  no  more. 
jlfo2._What,  resty,  friend  ? 

Nine  years  thou  hast  to  serve. 
Mel.—l^ot  full  nine  minutes. 

Mai.— Thon  liest ;  look  on  thy  bond,  and  view  the  date, 
j^el — Then,  wilt  thou  stand  to  that  without  appeal  ? 
Mai.— I  will,  so  help  me  Heaven  ! 
j(/e/.— So  take  thee  Hell.     ^Oives  him  the  bond. 

There,  fool ;  behold  who  lies,  the  devil,  or  thou  ? 
Mai. Ha !  one  and  twenty  years  are  shrunk  to  twelve ! 

Do  my  eyes  dazzle  ? 
J/e?.— No,  they  see  too  true : 

They  dazzled  once,  I  cast  a  mist  before  them 

So  what  was  figured  twelve,  to  thy  dull  sight 

Appeared  full  twenty -one. 


Mal.- 
Mel.- 

Mal.- 
Mel.- 
Mal.- 
Mel- 
Mai. - 

Mel.— 


Mai. — 


Mel.' 
Mai,- 


Mel- 


Mai. 
Mel- 


-There's  equity  in  Heaven  for  this,  a  cheat. 
Fool,  thou  has  quitted  thy  appeal  to  Heaven 

To  stand  to  this. 
-Then  I  am  lost  for  ever  ! 
Thou  art! 

-O  why  was  I  not  warned  before  ? 
-Yes,  to  repent ;  then  thou  hadst  cheated  me. 
-Add  but  a  day,  but  half  a  day,  an  hour : 

For  sixty  minutes  I'll  forgive  nine  years. 

No,  not  a  moment's  thought  beyond  my  time  1 

Despatch  ;  'tis  much  below  me  to  attend 

For  one  poor  single  fare. 

So  pitiless  ? 

But  yet  I  may  command  thee,  and  I  will ; 

I  love  the  Guise,  even  with  my  latest  breath. 

Beyond  my  soul,  and  my  lost  hopes  of  Heaven: 

I  charge  thee,  by  my  short-lived  power,  disclose 
What  fate  attends  my  master. 

-If  he  goes 
To  council  when  he  next  is  called,  he  dies. 

-Who  waits  ? 

Enter  Servant. 

Go,  give  my  lord  my  last  adieu  j 
Say,  I  shall  never  see  his  eyes  again  ; 
But  if  he  goes,  when  next  he's  called,  to  council, 
Bid  him  believe  my  latest  breath,  he  dies.  lExit  Servant. 

The  sands  run  yet.— 0  do  not  shake  the  glass  !— 
I  shall  be  thine  too  soon  '.—Could  I  repent  !— 
Heaven's  not  confined  to  moments.— Mercy,  mercy ! 
■1  see  thy  prayers  dispersed  into  the  winds. 
And  Heaven  has  passed  them  by. 
I  was  an  angel  once  of  foremost  rank, 
Stood  next  the  shining  throne,  and  winked  but  half; 
So  almost  gazed  I  glory  in  the  face 
That  I  could  bear  it,  and  stand  farther  in  ; 
'Twas  but  a  moment's  pride,  and  yet  I  fell, 
For  ever  fell ;  but  man,  base  earth-born  man, 
Sins  past  a  sum,  and  might  be  pardoned  more  : 
And  yet  'tis  just;  for  we  were  perfect  light. 
And  saw  our  crimes  ;  man,  in  his  body's  mire, 
Half-soul,  half-clod,  sinks  blindfold  into  sin, 
Betrayed  by  frauds  without  and  lusts  within. 
-Then  I  have  hope. 
-Not  so ;  I  preached  on  purpose 
To  make  thee  lose  this  moment  of  thy  prayer. 
Thy  sands  creep  low  ;  despair,  despair,  despair ! 


198 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


Mai. — Where  am  I  now  ?  upon  tho  brink  of  life, 
The  gulf  before  me,  devils  to  push  me  on, 
And  Heaven  behind  me  closing  all  its  doora. 
A  thousand  years  for  every  hour  I've  passed, 

0  could  I  'scape  so  cheap  !  but  ever,  ever ! 
Still  to  begin  an  endless  round  of  woes, 
To  be  renewed  for  pains  ;  and  last  for  hell ! 
Yet  can  pains  last,  when  bodies  cannot  last  ? 
Can  earthly  substance  endless  flames  endure  ? 
Or,  when  our  body  wears  and  flits  away, 

Do  souls  thrust  forth  another  crust  of  clay 

To  force  and  guard  their  t(  lultr  souls  from  fire  ? 

1  feel  my  heart-strings  rend  ! — I'm  here, — I'm  gone  ! 
Thus  men,  too  careless  of  their  future  state, 
Dispute,  know  nothing,  and  believe  too  late. 

\_Afiash  of  lightning  ;  they  sink  together. 

The  original  cast  of  this  tragedy  included  Kjnaston,  as 
Henry  III.,  King  of  France  ;  Betterton,  as  the  Duke  of 
Guise ;  Smith,  as  Crillon ;  Percival,  as  Malicorne ;  Giles, 
as  Melanax;  Lady  Slingsby,  as  the  Queen-Mother;  and 
Mrs.  Barry,  as  Marmoutier,  niece  to  Crillon. 

It  could  not  be  supposed  that  the  Whigs  would  remain 
silent  under  the  trenchant  attack  on  their  party  and 
principles  which  this  play  embodied.  A  vigorous  reply 
appeared  in  the  "  Defence  of  the  Charter  and  Municipal 
Eights  of  the  City  of  London,''  by  Thomas  Hunt,  the 
lawyer.  In  ShadwelFs  "Lenten  Prologue  "  (April,  1683) 
the  satire  is  laid  on  heavily,  if  somewhat  clumsily ;  and 
Shadwell  is  also  credited  with  the  part  authorship  of 
a  pamplilet  entitled  "  Some  Reflections  on  the  Pretended 
Parallel  in  the  Play  called  The  Duke  of  Guise."  These 
criticisms  provoked  from  Dryden  the  publication  of  his 
"Vindication  of  the  Duke  of  Guise,"  in  which  his  powers 
as  a  controversialist  receive  the  most  admirable  illus- 
tration. 

In  the  last  year  of  Charles  II. 's  life  and  reign  Dryden 
produced  at    the   Queen's   Theatre,  in  Dorset  Garden, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


199 


his  opera  of  ''Albion  and  Albanius,"  for  which  the  music 
was  supplied  by  Louis  Grabu,  the  master  of  the  King's 
band,  whom    Charles  II.,   in   the  excess   of  his  French 
partialities,  preferred  to  Purcell.     In  this  opera,  as  in  the 
tragedy   which    preceded   it,    Dryden    had    an    avowed 
political  object.     He  introduced,  in  chronological  order, 
and  under  allegorical  forms,  the  principal   incidents  of 
Charles   II.'s   reign,    and   depicted   them  as    all  leading 
up  to  the  victory  of  the  Crown  over  his  opponents.     The 
allegory,  to  tell  truth,  is  dull  and  tedious,  and  the  plot 
contains  nothing  very  ingenious  or  novel.     Dryden  may 
have  learned  from  Verrio  to  paint  the  Duchess  of  York  as 
Venus,  or  her  husband,  as   protected   by    Neptune,   and 
Charles  II.  as  finding  a  counsellor  in  Proteus.      But  the 
lyrical  diction  is  everywhere  sweet  and  glowing.    "The 
reader  finds  none  of  those  harsh  inversions  and  awkward 
constructions   by   which   ordinary   poets   are   obliged   to 
screw  their  verses  into  the  fetters  of  musical  time.  .  .  . 
Every  line  seems  to  flow  in  its  natural  and  most  simple 
order,   and  where  the   music   required   repetition  of    a 
line,  or  a  word,  the  iteration  seems  to  improve  the  sense 
and  poetical  effect.     Neither  is   the  piece   deficient  in 
the   higher   requisites  of  lyric   poetry.     When  music  is 
to  be  '  married  to  immortal  verse,'  the  poet  too  commonly 
cares  little  with  how  indifferent  a  yoke-mate  he  provides 
her.     But  Dryden,  probably  less  from  a  superior  degree 
of  care,  than  from  that  divine  impulse  which  he  could 
not  resist,  has  hurried  along  in  the  full  stream  of  real 

poetry." 

Grabu's  music  was  of  a  trivial  and  indifferent  character. 
The  play  failed  to  attract  the  public ;  and  as  a  heavy  sum  had 
been  laid  out  upon  the  scenery,  decorations,  and  dresses. 


200 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


201 


n 


i\ 


the  result  was  a  very  considerable  loss  to  the  theatre. 
That  the  Whigs  whom  the  dramatist  satirised,  and  rival 
dramatists,  and  the  admirers  of  Purcell  and  the  EngHsh 
school  of  music  should  triumph  in  the  disaster  is  intelli- 
gible enough.  The  following  verses  are  a  specimen  of  the 
lampoons  which  appeared  : — 

*•  From  Father  Hopkins,  whose  voice  did  inspire  him, 
Bayes  sends  this  raw  show  to  public  view ; 
'Prentices,  fops,  and  their  footmen  admire  him, 
Thanks  patron,  painter,  and  Monsieur  Grabu. 

"  Each  actor  on  the  stage  his  luck  bewailing. 
Finds  that  his  loss  is  infallibly  true  ; 
Smith,  Nokes,  and  Leigh,  in  a  fever  with  railing, 
Curse  poet,  painter,  and  Monsieur  Grabu. 

*•  Betterton,  Betterton,  thy  decorations, 

And  the  machines,  were  well  written,  we  know  ; 
But,  all  the  words  were  such  stuff,  we  want  patience, 
And  little  better  is  Monsieur  Grabu." 

The  first  representation  of  "  Albion  and  Albanius  "  took 
place  on  the  3rd  of  June,  1685.*  The  music  was  published 
by  Grabu  in  1687,  with  a  dedication  to  James  JI. 

The  finale,  put  into  the  mouth  of  Fame,  is  as  follows: — 

"Renown,  assume  thy  trumpet! 
From  pole  to  pole  resounding 
Great  Albion's  name  ; 
Great  Albion's  name  shall  be 
The  theme  of  Fame,  shall  be  great  Albion's  name, 
Great  Albion's  name,  great  Albion's  name. 
Record  the  Gaelic's  glory ; 
A  badge  for  heroes  and  for  kings  to  bear ! 
For  kings  to  bear  ! 
And  swell  the  immortal  story 
With  songs  of  gods,  and  fit  for  gods  to  hear ; 
And  swell  the  immortal  story 
With  songs  of  gods,  and  fit  for  gods  to  hear  ; 
For  gods  to  hear." 

•  Charles  II.,  •*  in  honour  of  whom  it  was  principally  made,"  had  then 
been  dead  more  than  three  months  ;  but  '*  he  had  been  pleased,"  says  Dryden 
in  his  preface,  "  twice  or  thrice  to  command  that  it  should  be  practised  before 
him,  especially  the  first  and  third  acts  of  it ;  and  publicly  declared,  more 
than  once,  that  the  composition  and  choruses  were  more  just  and  more 
beautiful  than  any  he  had  heard  in  England." 


By  many  critics  "Don  Sebastian,"   produced  in  1690, 
after  a  tolerably  long  pause  in  his  dramatic  activity,  is 
considered  Dryden's  best  work  in  this  direction,  or,   at 
least,  to   challenge   equality  with   his   "All  for  Love." 
Hallam's  opinion  is  less  favourable.      He  places  its  chief 
excellence  in  the  .highly-finished  character  of  "  Dorax." 
Dorax,   he   says,  and  with  much  justice,   is  the  best  of 
the  poet's   tragic  characters;   perhaps   the  only   one  in 
which  he  has  made  practical  use  of  his  great  knowledge 
of  the  human  mind.      "  It  is  highly  dramatic,   because 
formed  of  those  complex  passions  which  may  readily  lead 
either  to  virtue  or  to  vice,  and  which  the  poet  can  manage 
so  as  to  surprise  the  spectator  without  transgressing  con- 
sistency."    Having   delivered  himself  of  this   eulogium, 
Hallam  returns  to  his  favourite  cold  judiciousness.  "  Don 
Sebastian,"  he  says,  "  is  as  imperfect  as  all  plays  must  be 
in  which   a   single  personage   is  thrown   forward  in  too 
strong  relief  for  the  rest.     The  language  is  full  of  that 
rant  which  characterised  Dryden's  earlier  tragedies,  and 
to  which  a  natural  predilection  seems,  after  some  interval, 
to  have  brought  him  back.      Sebastian  himself  may  seem 
to  have  been  intended  as  a  contrast  to  Muley-Moluch ; 
but  if  the  author  had  any  rule  to  distinguish  the  bluster- 
in  o-  of  the  hero  from  that  of  the  tyrant,  he  has  not  left 
the   use  of  it  in  his  reader's   hands.     The  plot  of  this 
tragedy  is  ill-conducted,  especially  in  the  fifth  act.  .  .  . 
Our  feelings  revolt  at  seeing,   as  in  Don  Sebastian,  an 
incestuous  passion  brought  forward  as  the  make-weight 
of  a  plot,  to  eke  out  a  fifth  act,  and  to  dispose  of  those 
characters  whose   fortune  the  main  story  has  not  quite 

wound  up." 

For  our  own  part,  we  regard  this  estimate  as  unfair 


202 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


203 


and  unsatisfactory  in  its  tone  of  exaggerated  depreciation. 
We  concede  the  rant,  the  occasional  ribaldry,  the  ill- 
management  and  unfortunate  motif  of  the  fifth  act ;  but, 
on  the  other  hand,  must  insist  that  the  interest  of  the 
situations  is  often  very  great,  that  the  diction  is  usually 
vigorous  and  often  poetical,  and  that  Dryden  in  this  play 
has  sounded  the  depths  of  human  passion  more  deeply 
than  in  any  other  of  his  dramatic  works.  Of  the  higher 
Shakespearian  sympathy  and  insight  there  is,  of  course, 
nothing.  Dryden,  in  his  happiest  moods,  could  only  be 
Dryden ;  and  Dryden  at  his  happiest  no  more  mates  with 
Shakespeare  than,  in  the  domain  of  Music,  Spohr  ranks 
with  Beethoven.  But  "Don  Sebastian"  is  a  stirring 
and  impressive  drama,  in  which  the  poet  exhibits  con- 
siderable power  over  some  of  the  strongest  emotions  of 
the  human  heart. 

On  all  matters  of  poetical  criticism  one  would  rather 
accept  the  judgment  of  Scott  than  that  of  Hallam,  and 
Scott  bestows  on  ''Don  Sebastian"  no  stinted  praise. 
The  characters,  he  says,  are  contrasted  with  singular 
ability  and  judgment.  "  Sebastian,  high-spirited  and 
fiery  -,  the  soul  of  royal  and  military  honour ;  the  soldier 
and  the  king ;  almost  embodies  the  idea  which  the  reader 
forms  at  the  first  mention  of  his  name.  Dorax,  to  whom 
lie  is  so  admirable  a  contrast,  is  one  of  those  characters 
whom  the  strong  hand  of  adversity  has  wrested  from 
their  natural  bias ;  and  perhaps  no  equally  vivid  picture 
can  be  found  of  a  subject  so  awfully  interesting.  Born 
with  a  strong  tendency  to  all  that  was  honourable  and 
virtuous,  the  very  excess  of  his  virtues  became  vice,  when 
his  own  ill  fate,  and  Sebastian's  injustice,  had  driven  him 
into  exile.     By  comparing,  as  Dryden  has  requested,  the 


character  of  Dorax,  in  the  fifth  act,  with  that  he  main- 
tains in  the  former  part  of  the  play,  the  difference  may 
be  traced  betwixt  his  natural  virtues,  and  the  vices 
engrafted  on  them  by  headlong  passion  and  embitter- 
ing calamity.  There  is  no  inconsistence  in  the  change 
which  takes  place  after  his  scene  with  Sebastian.  .  .  . 
It  is  the  same  picture  in  a  new  light ;  the  same  ocean 
in  tempest  and  in  calm ;  the  same  traveller,  whom  sun- 
shine has  induced  to  abandon  his  cloak,  which  the  storm 
only  forced  him  to  wrap  more  closely  around  him.  .  .  . 
The  last  stage  of  a  virtuous  heart,  corroded  into  evil 
by  wounded  pride,  has  never  been  more  forcibly  displayed 
than  in  the  character  of  Dorax.  .  .  . 

"  Muley-lMoluch  is  an  admirable  specimen  of  that  very 
frequent  theatrical    character— a   stage   tyrant.      He  is 
fierce  and  boisterous  enough  to   be    sufficiently  terrible 
and  odious,  and  that  without  much  rant,  considering  he 
is  an  infidel  Soldam,  who,  from  the  ancient  deportment  of 
Mahomet  and  Termagaunt,  as  they  appeared  in  the  old 
Mysteries,  might   claim    a   prescriptive    right  to   tear  a 
passion  to  tatters.     Besides,  the   Moorish   emperor   has 
fine  glances  of  savage  generosity,  and  that  free,  uncon- 
strained,  and    almost    noble    openness,   the    only   good 
quality,  perhaps,  which   a    consciousness    of  unbounded 
power  may  encourage  in  a  mind  so  firm   as   not  to  be 
totally  depraved   by  it.     The   character  was  admirably 
represented  by  Kynaston,  who  had,  says  Gibber,  '  a  fierce 
lion-like  majesty  in  his  port  and  utterance,  that  gave  the 
spectator  a  kind  of  trembling  admiration.'     It  is  enough 
to  say  of  Bonducar,  that  the  cool,  fawning,  intriguing, 
and  unprincipled   statesman   is    fully   developed   in    his 
whole  conduct;  and  of  Alvarez,  that  the  little  he  has  to 


■'■■■■f 


204 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


OR,    ENGLAND    TINDER    CHARLES    II. 


205 


say  and  do  is  so  said  and  done  as  not  to  disgrace  Ms 
commonplace  character  of  tlie  possessor  of  the  secret  on 
which  the  plot  depends  ;  for  it  may  be  casually  observed 
that  the  depository  of  such  a  clue  to  the  catastrophe, 
though  of  the  last  importance  to  the  plot,  is  seldom 
himself  of  any  interest  whatever.  The  haughty  and 
high-spirited  Almayda  is  designed  by  the  author  as  the 
counterpart  of  Sebastian.  She  breaks  out  with  the 
same  violence,  I  had  almost  said  fury,  and  frequently 
discovers  a  sort  of  kindred  sentiment,  intended  to  pre- 
pare the  reader  for  the  unfortunate  discovery  that  she  is 
the  sister  of  the  Portuguese  monarch." 

With  all  its  merits,  however,  "  Don  Sebastian  "  conclu- 
sively proves  that  Dryden  was  a  great  playwright  rather 
than  a  great  dramatist.     He  was  a  man  of  genius,  who, 
possessing  some  invention,  some  knowledge  of  the  stage, 
and  an  ample  command  of  splendid  and  lively  diction, 
took   to   writing  plays,   not    because   he   possessed    the 
dramatic  faculty,  but  because   he  wanted    money.*     He 
has  not  created  a  character,  unless  we  allow  that  Dorax  is 
one;    and,  after  all,  Dorax  is  more  of  a  copy  than  an 
original.     The   name   of  Shakespeare   immediately  sug- 
gests a  whole  gallery  of  living,  breathing  figures— Lear, 
Hamlet,  Mercutio,  Hermione,  Cordelia,  Desdemona,  Mac- 
beth,  and   a  hundred    more;    but   Dryden's   gallery   is 
peopled  with   shadows — whose  names  we  forget — which 
have  no  distinctness  of  feature  to  impress  their  recollec- 
tion on  our  mind — which  pass  before  us  like  the  fictions 
of  a  dream,  and  are  equally  vague,  unsubstantial,  and 


«  A  dramatic  author  then  received  all  the  third  night's  profits  and  what  he 
could  obtain  from  a  bookseller  for  his  copyright— altogether,  from  £100  to 

jei50. 


fugitive.     They   are   part   of   the   stock-in-trade    of  the 
theatre— as  much  as  the  scenery  and  the  decorations. 

Though  not  very  well  received  at  first,  the  play  grew 
rapidly  into  popularity.  It  was  dedicated  to  the  Earl  of 
Leicester,  and  acted  and  printed  in  1690. 

The  original  cast  included— Don  Sebastian,  Williams; 
Muley-Moluch,  Kynaston  ;  Dorax,  Betterton  ;  Bonducar, 
Sandford  ;  Mufti,  Underbill  ;  Muley-Zaydan,  Powell, 
jun.  ;  Don  Antonio,  Betterton ;  Don  Alvarez,  Bowman ; 
Mustapha,  Leigh;  Almayda,  Mrs.  Barry;  Morayma,  Mrs. 
Montfort;  Johayma,  Mrs.  Leigh. 

We  subjoin  the  famous  scene  between  Dorax  and  the 
Kino"  of  which  Scott  writes— not  without  exaggeration— 
that  "  had  it  been  the  only  one  ever  Dryden  wrote,  it 
would  have  been  sufficient  to  ensure  his  immortality. 
There  is  not,"  he  says,  "no,  perhaps,  not  even  in 
Shakespeare,— an  instance  where  the  chord,  which  the 
poet  designed  should  vibrate,  is  more  happily  struck; 
strains  there  are  of  a  higher  mood,  but  not  more  cor- 
rectly true." 

Dorax,  having  taken  off   his  turban,  and  put  on  «a 
peruke,  hat,  and  cravat,"  re-entered. 

Dor.— Now,  do  you  know  me  ? 
iSc&a&t.— Thou  shouldest  be  Alonzo. 
Dor.— So  yoQ  should  be  Sebastian : 

But  when  Sebastian  ceased  to  be  himself, 
I  ceased  to  be  Alonzo. 

Sehast.—As  in  a  dream 

I  see  thee  here,  and  scarce  believe  mine  eyes. 
Dor.— Is  it  so  strange  to  find  me  where  my  wrouga 
And  your  inhuman  tyranny  have  sent  me  ? 
Think  not  you  dream ;  or,  if  you  did,  my  injuries 
Shall  call  so  loud  that  lethargy  should  wake, 
And  death  should  give  you  back  to  answer  me. 
A  thousand  nights  have  brushed  their  balmy  wings 
Ovrer  these  eyes  ;  but  ever  when  they  closed, 


206 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


Your  tyrant  image  forced  them  ope  again, 
And  dried  the  dews  they  brought  : 
The  long-expected  hour  is  come  at  length, 
By  manly  vengeance  to  redeem  my  fame ; 
And,  that  once  cleared,  eternal  s^leep  is  welcome. 

JSehast—l  have  not  yet  forgot  1  am  a  king, 

Whose  royal  office  is  redress  of  wrongs  : 

If  I  have  wronged  thee,  charge  me  face  to  face  ; — 

I  have  not  yet  forgot  I  am  a  soldier. 

Por. 'Tis  the  first  justice  thou  has  ever  done  me. 

Then,  though  I  loathe  this  woman^s  war  of  tongues. 
Yet  shall  my  cause  of  vengeance  first  be  clear ; 
And,  Honour,  be  thou  judge. 

.Sebost.— Honour  befriend  us  both. — 

Beware,  I  warn  thee  yet,  to  tell  thy  griefs 
In  terms  becoming  majesty  to  hear : 
I  warn  thee  thu>,  because  I  know  thy  temper 
Is  insolent,  and  haughty  to  superiors. 
How  often  hast  thou  braved  my  peaceful  court, 
Filled  it  with  noisy  briwis  arul  windy  boasts  ; 
Aud  with  past  service,  nauseously  repeated. 
Reproached  even  me,  thy  prince  ? 
j)ffr, — And  well  I  might,  when  you  f  rget  reward, 
The  pact  of  heaven  in  kings  ;  for  punishment 
Is  hangman's  work,  and  drudgery  for  devils. — 
I  must  and  will  reproach  thee  with  my  service. 
Tyrant  1— It  irks  me  so  to  call  uiy  prince  ; 
But  just  resentment  and  hard  usage  coined 
Tiie  unwilling  word  ;  and,  grating  as  it  is, 
Take  it,  for  'tis  thy  due. 

Sehast.^B.o\v,  tyrant  ? 
Don — Tyrant. 

Sehast.^Tvait  >v  I— that  name  thou  canst  not  echo  back  ; 
That  robe  of  infamy,  that  circumcision 
111  hid  beneath  that  robe,  proclaim  thee  traitor  ; 
And  if  a  name 

More  foul  than  traitor  be.  'tis  renegade. 
Dor.— If  I'm  a  traitor,  think,— and  blush,  thou  tyrant,— 
Whose  injuries  betrayed  me  into  treason, 
Effaced  my  loyalty,  unhinged  my  faith, 
Aud  hurried  me,  from  hopes  of  heaven,  to  hell. 
All  these,  and  all  my  yet  unfinished  crimes, 
When  I  shall  rise  to  plead  before  the  saintt!, 
I  charge  on  thee  to  make  thy  damning  sure. 

Sehast. — Thy  old  presumptuous  arrogance  again. 

That  bred  my  first  dislike  and  then  my  loathing, — 
Once  more  be  warned,  aud  know  me  for  thy  king. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 

Dor.— Too  well  I  know  thee,  but  for  king  no  more. 
This  is  not  Li.<bon  ;  nor  the  circle  this. 
Where,  like  a  statue,  thou  hast  stood  besieged 
By  s3^cophants  and  fools,  the  growth  of  courts ; 
Where  thy  gulled  eyes,  in  all  the  gaudy  round. 
Met  nothing  but  a  lie  in  every  face  ; 
And  the  gross  flattery  of  a  gaping  crowd. 
Envious  who  first  should  catch  and  first  applaud 
The  stuff  of  royal  nonsense  ;  when  I  spoke. 
My  honest  homely  words  were  carped  and  censured 
For  want  of  courtly  style  ;  related  actions. 
Though  mode.^tly  reported,  passed  for  boasts ; 
Secure  of  merit,  if  I  asked  reward, 
Thy  hungry  minions  thought  their  rights  invaded, 
And  the  bread  snatched  from  pimps  and  parasites.  .  . 
By  me  thy  greatness  grew,  thy  years  grew  with  it. 
But  thy  ingratitude  outgrew  them  both. 
Sehast— I  see  to  what  thou  tend'st :  but,  tell  me  first. 
If  those  great  acts  were  done  alone  for  me  ? 
If  love  produced  not  some,  and  pride  the  rest  ? 
X>oy._Why,  love  does  all  that's  noble  here  below  ; 
But  all  the  advantage  of  that  love  was  thine. 
For,  coming  fraughted  back,  in  either  hand 
With  palm  and  olive,  victory  and  peace, 
I  was  indeed  prepared  to  ask  my  own 
(For  Violante's  sons  were  mine  before  :) 
Thy  malice  had  prevention*  ere  I  spoke  ; 
And  asked  me  Violante  for  Henriquez. 
Sebast.—I  meant  thee  a  reward  of  greater  worth. 
J)or.~  AVhere  justice  wanted,  could  reward  be  hoped? 
Could  the  robbed  passenger  expect  a  bounty 
From  those  rapacious  hands  who  stripped  him  first  ? 
Sehast— Ee  had  my  promise  ere  I  knew  thy  love. 

j)or. — My  services  deserved  thou  shouldst  revoke  it. 
Sehast.'  -Thy  insolence  had  cancelled  all  thy  service  : 
To  violate  my  laws,  eve  i  in  my  court. 
Sacred  to  peace  and  safe  from  all  affronts, — 
Even  to  my  face,  as  done  in  my  despite, 
Under  the  wing  of  awful  majesty 
To  strike  the  man  I  loved  ! 
i?t>r.— Even  in  the  face  of  heaven,  a  place  more  sacred, 

Would  I  liave  struck  the  man  who,  propt  by  power, 
Would  seize  my  right  and  rob  me  of  my  love. — 
But,  for  a  blow  provoked  by  thy  injustice. 


*  Used,  of  course,  in  ihQ  old  sense  of  "  anticipation,"  "  going  before, 


207 


I 


It 


208 


THE    MEREY    MONARCH; 


The  hasty  product  of  a  jnst  despair, 
When  he  refused  to  meet  me  in  the  field, 
That  thou  shouldst  make  a  coward's  cause  thy  own ! 
Sebast.—Be  durst;  nay  more,  desire^',  and  begged  with  tears 
To  meet  thy  challenge  fairly.     *Twas  thy  fault 
To  make  it  public ;  but  my  duty,  then, 
To  interpose,  on  pain  of  my  displeasure, 
Betwixt  your  swords. 
J)or,^On  pain  of  infamy 

He  should  have  disobeyed. 

Sehast. The  indignity  thou  didst  was  meant  to  me: 

Thy  gloomy  eyes  were  cast  on  me  with  scorn, 
As  who  should  say,— The  blow  was  there  intended  ; 
But  that  thou  didst  not  dare  to  lift  thy  hands 
Against  anointed  power.     So  was  I  forced 
To  do  a  sovereign  jusiice  to  myself, 
And  spurn  thee  from  my  presence.  .  .  . 
But  thou  hast  charged  me  with  ingratitude  ; 
Hast  thou  not  charged  me  ?     Speak  ! 
j)m\^1how  know'st  I  have: 

If  thou  disowii'st  that  imputation,  draw, 
And  prove  my  fliur.L'e  a  lie. 
Behast.^l^o  ;  to  disin(»ve  that  lie  I  must  not  draw. 
Be  conscious  to  tliy  \v(.rth,  and  tell  thy  soul 
What  thou  hast  done  this  day  in  my  defence. 
To  tight  thee  after  this,  wjiat  wtM-e  it  else 
Than  owning  th;it  inirratitude  thou  urgest? 
That  isthmus  stands  between  two  rushing  seas  ; 
Which,  mounting,  view  each  other  from  afar, 
And  strive  in  vain  to  meet. 
j^fyf, — ril  cut  that  isthmus. 

Thou  know'st  I  meant  not  to  preserve  thy  life, 
But  to  reprieve  it,  for  mine  own  revenge. 
I  saved  thee  out  of  honourable  malice: 
Kow,  draw  ;  1  should  be  l(»th  to  tliink  thou  dar'st  not ; 
Beware  of  such  another  vile  excuse. 
8eha»t,—0h,  patience,  beware ! 
Dor, — Beware  of  i)atience,  too  ; 

That's  a  suspicious  word.     Ir  had  been  proper. 
Before  thy  foot  bad  spurned  me  ;  now  'tis  base : 
Yet,  to  disarm  thee  of  thy  last  defence, 
I  have  thy  oath  for  my  security. 
The  only  boon  I  begged  was  this  fair  combat: 
Fight,  or  be  perjured  now  ;  that's  all  thy  choice. 
Sebast.— Now  can  I  thank  tliee  as  thou  wouldst  be  thanked. 
Never  was  vow  of  honour  better  paid, 


[^Dran-ing, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 

If  my  true  sword  but  hold,  than  this  shall  be. 

The  sprightly  bridegroom,  on  his  wedding  night. 

More  gladly  enters  not  the  lists  of  love : 

Why,  'tis  enjoyment  to  be  summoned  thus. 

Go,  bear  my  message  to  Henriquez'  ghost  ; 

And  say,  his  master  and  his  friend  revenged  him. 
Dor. — His  ghost !  then  is  my  hated  rival  dead  ? 
Sebast. — The  question  is  beside  our  present  purpose  : 

Thou  seest  me  ready  ;  we  delay  too  long. 
Dor. — A  minute  is  not  much  in  cither's  life, 

When  there's  but  one  betwixt  us :  throw  it  in, 

And  give  it  him  of  us  who  is  to  fall. 
Sebast. — He's  dead ;  make  haste,  and  thou  may'st  yet  o'ertake  him. 
Doj\ — When  I  was  hasty,  thou  delayed'st  me  longer. — 

I  pr'ythee,  let  me  edge  one  moment  more 

Into  thy  promise:  for  thy  life  t)reserved, 

Be  kind  ;  and  tell  me  how  that  rival  died, 

Whose  death,  next  thine,  I  wished. 
Sebasi. — If  it  wouldst  please  thee,  thou  shouldst  never  know; 

Bat  thou,  like  jealousy,  iuquir'st  a  truth 

Which,  found,  will  torture  thee. — He  died  in  fight; 

Fought  next  my  person  ;  as  in  consort  fought ; 

Kept  [)ace  for  pace,  and  blow  for  every  blow ; 

Save  when  he  heaved  his  shield  in  my  defence. 

And  on  his  naked  side  received  my  wound. 

Then,  when  he  could  no  more,  he  fell  atone; 

But  rt)lled  his  falling  body  cross  their  way. 

And  made  a  bulwark  of  it  for  his  prince. 
Dor.— I  never  can  forgive  him  such  a  death! 
Sebast. — I  pro[>hesied  thy  proud  soul  could  not  bear  it. — 

Now,  judge  thyself,  who  best  deserved  my  love  ? 

I  knew  you  both  ;  and  (durst  I  say)  as  heaven 

Foreknew,  among  the  shining  angel  host, 

Who  would  stand  firm,  who  fall. 
Dor. — Had  he  been  tempted  so,  so  had  he  fallen  ; 

And  so,  had  I  been  favoured,  had  I  stood. 
SebcLSt. — What  had  been,  is  unknown  ;  what  is,  appears^ 

Confess,  he  justly  was  preferred  to  thee. 
Do?'. — Had  I  been  born  with  hia  indulgent  stars. 

My  fortune  had  been  his,  and  his  been  mine. — 

0  worse  than  hell !  what  glory  have  I  lost. 
And  what  has  he  ac(iuired  by  such  a  death  ? 

1  should  have  fallen  by  Sebastian's  side. 

My  cor{)se  had  been  the  bulwark  of  my  King. 
His  glorious  end  was  a  patched  work  of  fate, 
111  sorted  with  a  soft,  effeminate  life 
It  suited  better  with  my  life  than  hia 

VOL.    I.  F 


209 


I 


210 


THE   MEEEY   MONARCH; 


So  to  have  died  :    Mine  had  been  of  a  piece, 
Spent  in  your  service,  dying  at  your  feet. 
[  Sehast.— The  more  effeminate  and  soft  his  life, 

The  more  his  fame  to  struggle  to  the  field 
And  meet  his  glorious  fate.     Confess,  proud  spirit, 
(For  I  will  hear  it  from  thy  very  mouth), 
That  better  he  deserved  my  love  than  thou  ? 
X>or.— Oh,  whither  would  you  drive  me  ?     I  must  grant,— 
Yes,  I  must  grant,  but  with  a  swelling  soul,— 
Henriquez  had  your  love  with  more  desert. 
For  you  he  fought  and  died :  I  fought  against  you  ; 
Through  all  the  mazes  of  the  bloody  field 
Haunted  your  sacred  life  ;  which  that  I  missed 
Was  the  propitious  error  of  my  fate, 
Not  of  my  soul :  my  soul's  a  regicide. 
Sehast.  IMore  calmhj-\.— Thou  might'st  have  given  it  a  more  gentle  name. 
Thou  mean'st  to  kill  a  tyrant ;  not  a  king : 
Speak,  didst  thou  not,  Alonzo  ? 
Dor.— Can  I  speak  ? 

Alas,  I  cannot  answer  to  Alonzo  !— 
No,  Dorax  cannot  answer  to  Alonzo  ; 
Alonzo  was  too  kind  a  name  for  me. 
Then,  when  I  fought  and  conquered  with  your  arms, 
In  that  blest  age  I  ^\  as  the  man  you  named ; 
Till  rage  and  pride  debased  me  into  Dorax ; 
And  lost,  like  Lucifer,  my  name  above. 
Sehast.— Yet  'twere  this  day  I  owed  my  life  to  Dorax. 
Dor,— I  saved  you  but  to  kill  you :  there's  my  grief. 
iSebasf.— Nay,  if  thou  canst  be  grieved,  thou  canst  repent; 
Thou  canst  not  be  a  villain  though  thou  wouldst : 
Thou  own'st  too  much,  in  owning  thou  hast  erred ; 
And  I  too  little,  who  provoked  thy  crime. 
Dor.— Oh,  stop  this  headlong  torrent  of  your  goodness  ; 
It  comes  too  fast  upon  a  feeble  soul. 
Half -drowned  in  tears  before :  spare  my  confusion  ; 
For  pity  spare,  and  say  not  first  you  erred  ; 
For  yet  I  have  not  dared,  through  guilt  and  shame, 
To  throw  myself  beneath  your  royal  feet. — 
Now  spurn  this  rebel,  this  proud  renegade  ; 
'Tis  just  you  should,  nor  will  I  more  complain. 
Sehait.—lndcedy  thou  shouldst  not  ask  forgiveness  first ; 
But  thou  prevent' st  me  still  in  all  that's  noble. 
Yes,  I  will  raise  thee  up  with  better  news. 
Thy  Violante's  heart  was  ever  thine ; 
Compelled  to  wed,  because  she  was  my  ward, 
Her  soul  was  absent  when  she  gave  her  hand ; 


{Falls  at  his  feet. 


l^Takinghimup, 


OUy    ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


211 


Nor  could  my  threats,  or  his  pursuing  courtship. 
Effect  the  consummation  of  his  love  : 
So,  still  indulging  tears  she  pines  for  thee, 
A  widow,  and  a  maid. 
Dor. — Have  I  been  cursing  heaven,  while  heaven  blest  me  ? 
I  shall  run  mad  with  ecstacy  of  joy  : 
What !  in  one  moment,  to  be  reconciled 
To  heaven,  and  to  my  king,  and  to  my  love  ! — 
But  pity  is  my  friend,  and  stops  me  short 
For  my  unliappy  rival :— Poor  Henriquez  ! 

Sehast. — Art  thou  so  generous,  too,  to  pity  him  ? 

Nay,  then,  I  was  unjust  to  love  him  better. 
Here,  let  me  ever  hold  thee  in  my  arms  ; 
And  all  our  (quarrels  be  but  such  as  these, 
Who  sh-ciU  love  best  and  closest  shall  embrace. 
Be  what  Henriquez  wa?,— be  my  Alonzo. 
Do7'. — What,  my  Alonzo,  said  you  ?     my  Alonzo  ? 
Let  my  tears  thank  you,  for  I  cannot  speak  : 
And,  if  I  could, 
Words  were  not  made  to  vent  such  thoughts  as  mine. 

Sehast. — Some  strange  reverse  of  fate  must  sure  attend 
This  vast  profusion,  this  extravagance 
Of  heaven,  to  bless  me  thus.    'Tis  gold  so  pure 
It  cannot  bear  the  stamp,  without  alloy  ; 
Be  kind,  ye  Powers  !  and  take  but  half  away  : 
With  ease  the  gifts  of  fortune  I  resign  ; 
But  let  my  love  and  friend  be  ever  mine. 


lEmhraeing  him. 


[Exeunt. 


In  1690,  Dryden  produced  at  the  Theatre  Eoyal  his 
comedy  of  "  Amphitryon/'  on  a  subject  which  Plautus 
was  the  first  to  touch,  and  after  him,  Moli^re.  In  dedi- 
cating it  to  Sir  William  Leveson-Gower,  Dryden  justly 
defines  the  extent  of  his  obligations  to  his  illustrious  pre- 
decessors. ''  Were  this  comedy  wholly  mine,"  he  says 
"  I  should  call  it  a  trifle,  and  perhaps  not  think  it  worth 
your  patronage  ;  but  when  the  names  of  Plautus  and 
Moliere  are  joined  in  it,  that  is,  the  two  greatest  names  of 
ancient  and  modern  comedy,  I  must  not  presume  so  far  on 
their  reputation,  to  think  their  best  and  most  unquestioned 
productions  can  be  termed  little.  I  will  not  give  you  the 
trouble  of  acquainting  you  what  I  have  added,  or  altered. 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


213 


in  either  of  them,  so  much,  it  may  be,  for  the  worse  ;  but 
only  that  the  difference  of  our  stage  from  the  Roman  and 
the  French  did  so  require  it.  But  I  am  afraid,  for  my 
own  interest,  the  world  will  too  easily  discover  that  more 
then  half  of  it  is  mine ;  and  that  the  rest  is  rather  a  lame 
imitation  of  their  excellencies  than  a  just  translation." 

To  the  Eoman  poet  both  Moliere  and  Dryden  owe  the 
amusing  device  of  the  two  Sosias ;  the  complications  in 
which  the  malicious  ingenuity  of  Mercury  involves  his 
unfortunate  original;  Alcmena's  quarrel  with  her  real 
husband,  and  her  reconciliation  with  Jupiter,  who  per- 
sonates him ;  the  final  encounter  of  the  genuine  and  the 
sham  Amphitryon  ;  and  the  astonishm  ent  of  the  unhappy 
husband  who  finds  himself  anticipated  by  his  rival  in  each 
proof  of  his  identity.  To  Moliere  Dryden  is  greatly  in- 
ferior in  the  blatant  indecency  of  his  dialogue.  A  subject, 
hazardous  enough  in  itself,  he  has  so  treated  as  to  make 
offensive  by  its  shameful  suggestiveness  ;  and  where 
Moliere  is  witty,  Dryden  is  simply  coarse.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  has  improved  the  plot  by  the  amusing  intrigue  be- 
tween Mercury  and  Phadra  ;  and  in  the  scenes  between 
Jupiter  and  Alcmena  attains  a  higher  poetical  level  than 
either  of  his  great  predecessors.  Lastly,  the  animal  spirits 
of  Dryden  are  nowhere  more  conspicuous  than  in  this 
comedy,  which  is  instinct  with  vitality  from  beginning  to 
end,  and  gives  one  the  impression  of  having  been  written 
with  a  charming  spontaneity.  The  dialogue  is  wonderfully 
"brisk    and   airy,''— though   it   cannot   be   described   as 

humorous. 

The  songs  in  "Amphitryon"  were  set  to  music  by 
Purcell,— "in  whose  person,"  says  Dryden,  "we  have  at 
length  found  one  Englishman  equal  with  the  best  abroad.'* 


They  are : — "  Celia,  that  I  once  was  blest ;  "  "  Fair  Iris,  I 
love,  and  hourly  I  die;"  and  the  duet,  "Fair  Iris  and 
her  swain." 

The  original  cast  included  : — Betterton  as  Jupiter ;  Lee, 
Mercury;  Bowman,  Phoebus;  Williams,  Amphitryon; 
Nokes,  Sosia ;  Sandford,  Gripus ;  Bright,  Polidas ;  Bowen, 
Tranis;  Mrs.  Barry,  Alcmena;  Mrs.  Montfort,  Phsedra; 
Mrs.  Cory,  Bromia ;  and  Mrs.  Butler,  Night. 

"  The  last  piece  of  service  "  which  Dryden  "  had  the 
honour  to  do  for  his  gracious  master  King  Charles  IL," 
was  the  "  dramatic  Opera  "  of  "  King  Arthur  ;  or,  The 
British  Worthy."  The  King  did  not  live  to  see  it  pro- 
duced upon  the  stage, "  yet  the  Prologue  to  it,  which  was 
the  Opera  of  "  Albion  and  Albanius,'  was  often  practised 
before  him  at  Whitehall,  and  encouraged  by  his  appro- 
bation." Dryden,  like  Milton,  had  had  his  imagination 
touched  by  the  old  chivalrous  romances  of 

"  Ather's  son, 
Begirt  with  British  and  Armoric  Knights." 

and  conceived  the  idea  of  treating  it  epically,  as  well  as 
dramatically.  The  epic  poem  he  never  wrote;  and  the 
dramatic  compositions  which  he  has  connected  with  King 
Arthur  bear  no  reference  to  the  Arthurian  legends.  We 
see  nothing  of  Excalibur,  nor  of  the  Round  Table  Chivalry; 
Guenivere  is  absent,  and  Sir  Lancelot  and  Sir  Gawain. 
The  story,  indeed,  is  rather  that  of  a  fairy  tale  than  of  a 
media3val  legend ;  and  the  supernatural  machinery  be- 
longs to  the  Oriental  rather  than  to  the  Celtic  world.  But 
the  incidents  are  ingeniously  contrived,  and  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plot  is  arranged  with  much  skill.  A  pathetic 
interest  attaches  to  the  character  of  Emmeline,  with  her 
blindness,  and  the  simplicity  with  which  she  describes  her 


^ 


214 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH  ; 


ideas  of  visible  objects.  The  scene  in  which  she  recovers 
her  sight  is  very  tenderly  treated.  "  The  machinery  is  simple 
and  well  managed ;  the  language  and  ministry  of  Grim- 
bald,  the  fierce  earthy  demon,  are  painted  with  some  touches 
which  rise  even  to  sublimity.  The  conception  of  Philidel,  a 
fallen  angel,  retaining  some  of  the  hue  of  heaven,  who 
is  touched  with  repentance,  and  not  without  hope  of  being 
finally  received,  is  an  idea  altogether  original."  The  main 
incident  in  Dryden's  play  is  borrowed,  however,  from  the 
episode  in  Tasso's  "  Gerusalemme  Liberata,"  of  Einaldo's 
adventures  in  the  haunted  grove  on  Mount  Olivet. 

"King  Arthur"  was  acted  in  1691,  and  received  with 
great  favour.  Dryden  mentions  that  it  enjoyed  the 
approval  of  Queen  Mary,  who  had  perused  it  in  manu- 
script. The  music  was  furnished  by  Pure  ell,  and  con- 
tains some  of  his  happiest  inspirations.  Says  Dr.  Burney : 
"  If  ever  it  could,  with  truth,  be  Siiid  of  a  composer  that 
he  had  devance  son  siecle,  Purcell  is  entitled  to  that  praise, 
as  there  are  movements  in  many  of  his  works  which  a 
century  has  not  injured,  particularly  the  duet  in  '  King 
Arthur/  'Two  daughters  of  this  aged  stream,'  and 
<  Fairest  Isle,  all  isles  excelling,'  which  contain  not  a 
single  passage  that  the  best  composers  of  the  present 
times,  if  it  presented  itself  to  their  imagination,  would 
reject."  Another  celebrated  song  is  the  "  Come,  if  you 
dare,"  which  Mr.  Sims  Reeves  has  made  familiar  to 
modern  audiences. 

The  dances  were  composed  by  the  celebrated  Priest. 

At  the  first  representation  the  cast  stood  as  follows  : — 
King  Arthur,  Betterton  ;  Oswald,  Saxon  King  of  Kent, 
Williams;  Merlin,  a  famous  necromancer,  Kynaston; 
Conon,  Duke  of  Cornwall,  Hodgson;   Osmond,  a  Saxon 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


215 


magician,  Sandford ;  Aurelius,  friend  to  King  Arthur, 
Alexander;  Albamart,  Captain  of  Arthur's  Guards, 
Bowen  ;  Guillamar,  friend  to  Oswald,  Harris  ;  Emmeline, 
daughter  of  Conon,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  ;  Matilda,  Mrs. 
Eichardson;  Philidel,  an  Airy  Spirit,  Mrs.  Butler; 
Grimbald,  an  Earthy  Spirit,  Mrs.   Bowman. 

"  Cleomenes,  the  Spartan  Hero,"  a  tragedy,  was  pro- 
duced in  1692.  Its  story— that  of  a  banished  monarch, 
seeking,  in  the  Court  of  an  ally,  assistance  to  relieve  his 
country  from  a  foreign  yoke,  and  restore  himself  to  his 
ancestral  throne — was  not  one  that  King  William  III.^s 
censors  could  be  expected  to  welcome,  and  the  perform- 
ance of  the  piece  was  at  first  prohibited.  But  through 
the  exertions  of  Lord  Eochester,  Queen  Mary's  maternal 
uncle,  the  Court  was  convinced  of  its  harmlessness,  and 
"  Cleomenes  "  was  allowed  to  strut  on  the  stage  of  the 
Theatre  Eoyal.  The  play  was  successful,  though  the 
hero  is  not  painted  in  sufficiently  vivid  colours,  and  it 
loses,  therefore,  what  should  ensure  its  continuity  of 
interest.  None  of  the  characters  are  very  strongly 
defined :  the  impression  produced  by  that  of  Cassandra 
was  probably  due  to  the  admirable  acting  of  Mrs.  Barry, 
whom  Dryden,  in  his  Preface,  liberally  compliments  by 
saying,  "that  she  had  gained  by  her  performance  a 
reputation  beyond  any  woman  he  had  ever  seen  on  the 
theatre." 

Owing  to  illness,  Dryden  was  not  able  to  complete  his 
tragedy,  and  the  latter  half  of  the  fifth  act  was  written  by 

Southerne. 

The  original  cast  was  as  follows :— Cleomenes, Betterton; 
Cleonidas,  Lee  ;  Ptolemy,  Alexander  ;  Soribius,  Sandford ; 
Cleanthes,    Mountford ;    Pantheus,   Kynaston ;     Csenus, 


216 


THE    MERET    MONARCH; 


Hudson  ;  Cratesiclea,  Mrs.  Betterton  ;  Cleora,  Mrs.  Brace- 
girdle;   and  Cassandra,  Mrs.  Barry. 

"Cleomenes"  contains  one  of  Dryden's  finest  songs. 
As,  happily,  it  is  free  from  the  impurity  which  so  often 
disfigures  his  lyrics,  we  can  transfer  it  to  these  pages  : — 

"  No,  no,  poor  suffering  heart,  no  change  endeavour, 
Choose  to  sustain  the  smart  rather  than  leave  her; 
My  ravished  eyes  behold  such  charms  about  her, 
I  can  die  with  her,  but  not  live  without  her : 
One  tender  sigh  of  hers  to  see  me  languish 
Will  more  than  pay  the  price  of  my  past  anguish : 
Beware,  O  cruel  fair,  how  you  smile  on  me, 
'Twas  a  kind  look  of  yours  that  has  undone  me. 

Love  has  in  store  for  me  one  happy  minute, 

And  she  will  end  my  pain  who  did  begin  it ; 

Then  no  day  void  of  bliss,  of  pleasure,  leaving, 

Ages  shall  slide  away  without  perceiving: 

Cupid  shall  guard  the  door,  the  more  to  please  us, 

And  keep  out  Time  and  Death  when  they  would  seize  us: 

Time  and  Death  shall  depart,  and  say,  in  flying, 

Love  has  found  out  a  way  to  live  by  dying." 

Dryden  closed  his  long  and  industrious  career  as  a 
dramatist  in  1694,  and,  unfortunately,  closed  it  with  a 
failure— his  tragi-comedy  of  "Love  Triumphant."  It 
was  unsuccessful  when  represented,"^  and  we  cannot 
imagine  that  anyone  will  take  pleasure  in  its  perusal. 
The  plot  is  singularly  unpleasant,  for  it  turns  upon  an 
incestuous  passion,  which  Dryden  treats  with  charac- 
teristic coarseness;  while  the  underplot  is  not  only 
extravagant,  hut  indecent.  By  damning  the  play,  the 
public  showed  that  they  had  made  some  advance  in  moral 
feeling;  whereas  the  play  shows  that  Dryden  had  made 

*  A  contemporary  letter-writer  notes  :  "  The  second  play  is  Mr.  Dryden's, 
called  ♦  Love  Triumphant ;  or,  Nature  will  Prevail.'  It  is  tragi-comedy; 
but,  in  my  opinion,  one  of  the  worst  he  ever  writ,  if  not  the  very  worst : 
the  comical  part  descends  beneath  the  style  and  show  of  a  Bartholomew 
Fair  droll.  It  was  damned  by  the  universal  cry  of  the  town,  nemine  contra- 
dicente  but  the  conceited  part.  He  says  in  his  Prologue  that  this  is  the 
last  the  town  must  expect  from  him ;  he  had  done  himself  a  kindness  had 
he  taken  Lis  leave  before." 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


217 


none,  but  that  he  wallowed  in  filth  as  gratuitously  in  the 
reign  of  William  III.  as  he  had  done  in  that  of  Charles  II. 
The  versification,  we  may  add,  is  often  careless,  and  in 
many  places  Dryden  lapses  into  his  favourite  heroic 
couplets.  An  incident  in  the  first  scene  of  the  second 
act,  where  Alphonso  makes  known  to  Victoria  his  guilty 
passion  by  reading  from  a  book,  reminds  us  of  the  pathetic 
scene  between  Paolo  and  Francesca  da  Eimini  in  Dante's 
great  epic. 

The  original  cast  included :  Yeramond,  Kynaston  ; 
Alphonso,  Betterton  ;  Garcia,  Williams ;  Ramirez,  Alex- 
ander ;  Sancho,  Doggett ;  Carlos,  Powell ;  Lopez,  Under- 
bill; Ximena,  Mrs.  Betterton;  Victoria,  Mrs.  Barry; 
Celidea,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  ;  Dalinda,  Mrs.  Montfort ;  and 
Nurse,  Mrs.  Kent. 

Dryden  was  also  the  author  of  a  Prologue,  Song,  Secular 
Masque,  and  Epilogue,  composed  for  Beaumont  and 
Pletcher's  play  of  "The  Pilgrim,"  when  it  was  revived 
for  his  benefit  in  the  spring  of  1700.  Though  written 
within  a  few  weeks  of  his  death,  they  exhibit  all  his  old 
vigour  and  fertility.  The  epilogue  refers  to  Jeremy 
Collier's  "  Short  View  of  the  Immorality  and  Profaneness 
of  the  English  Stage"  (1698),  in  which,  with  justifiable 
indignation,  that  learned  divine  had  severely  censured 
the  profligate  writing  of  living  dramatists,  from  Dryden 
to  D'Urfey.  It  is  greatly  to  Dryden's  credit  that  he  at 
once  saw  and  acknowledged  the  magnitude  of  his  fault. 
In  the  Prologue,  it  is  true,  he  makes  a  lame  effort  to 
excuse  himself  by  shifting  the  responsibility  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  patrons  : — 

•'  Perhaps  the  parson  stretched  a  point  too  far, 
When  with  onr  theatres  he  waged  a  war. 
He  tells  yon,  that  this  very  moral  age 
Received  the  first  infection  from  the  stage ; 


218 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


219 


But  sure,  a  banished  Court,  with  lewdness  fraught, 
The  seeds  of  open  vice,  returning,  brought  .  .  . 
The  poets,  who  must  live  by  Courts,  or  starve, 
Were  proud  so  good  a  Government  to  serve ; 
And  mixing  with  bufloons  and  pimps  profane, 
Tainted  the  stage  for  some  small  snip  of  gain." 

But  in  "  the  Preface  "  to  his  "  Fables,"  he  says,  with 
more  frankness,  and  in  a  worthier  spirit :  "  I  shall  say 
the  less  of  Mr.  CoUier,  because  in  many  things  he  has 
taxed  me  justly ;  and  I  have  pleaded  guilty  to  all  thoughts 
and  expressions  of  mine,  which  can  be  truly  argued  of 
obscurity,  profaneness,  or  immorality,  and  retract  them. 
If  he  be  my  enemy,  let  him  triumph  ;  if  he  be  my  friend, 
and  I  have  given  him  no  personal  occasion  to  be  otherwise, 
he  will  be  glad  of  my  repentance.  It  becomes  me  not  to 
draw  my  pen  in  the  defence  of  a  bad  cause,  when  I  have 
so  often  drawn  it  for  a  good  one."^ 

A  comedy  called  ''  The  Mall ;  or,  The  Modish  Lovers," 
acted  in  1674,  is  sometimes  attributed  to  Dryden's  pen; 
as  also  another,  "  The  Mistaken  Husband,"  produced  in 
1675.  But  neither  seems  to  us  distinguished  by  any  of 
the  poet's  characteristics. 

We  have  presented  this  long  summary  of  Dryden's 
dramatic  work  for  two  reasons:  first,  because  Dryden 
was  unquestionably,   all  things  considered,  the  greatest 

*  It  may  be  noted  that  Lord  Lansdowne,  in  his  prologue  to  "  The  Jew 
of  Venice,"'  differed  from  both  Collier  and  Dryden,  attributing  the  evil  com- 
plained of  neither  to  the  dramatists  exclusively,  nor  to  the  Court,  but  to  the 
audiences  which  tolerated  it.     He  says : — 

"  Each  in  his  turn,  the  prophet  and  the  priest, 

Have  viewed  the  stage,  but  like  false  prophets  guessed. 

The  man  of  zeal,  in  his  religious  rage, 

Would  silence  poets  and  reduce  the  stage  ; 

The  poet,  rashly  to  get  clear,  retorts 

On  Kings  the  scandal,   and  bespatters  Courts. 

Both  err  :  for,  without  mincing,  to  be  plain, 

The  guilt's  your  own  of  every  odious  scene  ; 

The  present  time  still  gives  the  stage  its  mode  : 

The  vices  that  you  practise,  we  explode." 


playwright  of  the  Restoration ;  and,  second,  because  it  so 
clearly  illustrates  the  main  elements  of  his  intellectual 
power  and  the  limitations  of  his  genius.  Nothing  is  more 
clear  than  that,  with  all  his  gifts,  he  did  not  possess  the 
dramatic  faculty.  He  could  not  create ;  his  characters 
are  puppets,  moved  to  and  fro  with  much  ingenuity  of 
device,  but  they  did  not  convey  to  the  spectator,  they  do 
not  convey  to  the  reader,  any  sense  of  reality,  any  touch 
of  actual  life  and  truth.  It  may  be  conceded,  perhaps, 
that  he  furnished  the  first  sketches  of  the  stage  coquette 
and  the  stage  fop;  and  Mr.  Saintsbury  asserts  that  in  the 
•'  Spanish  Friar  "  he  achieved  something  like  an  indepen- 
dent and  an  original  creation.  This  is  all  that  can  be 
allowed,  and  it  is  not  sufiicient  to  justify  the  critic  in 
ascribing  to  him  the  rank  of  a  great  dramatist.  Putting 
Shakespeare  aside  as  unapproachable,  he  is  not  only  in- 
ferior in  dramatic  power  to  Ben  Jonson  and  Fletcher,  but 
even  to  Wycherley,  and  certainly  to  Congreve.  Who  re- 
members any  of  his  characters  ?  Who  can  recall,  with 
two  or  three  exceptions,  any  striking  and  original  scenes, 
in  which  the  passions  or  the  humours  are  so  vividly  dis- 
played that  the  memory  instantaneously  recalls  them,  like 
that  between  Manly  and  Fidelia  in  "  The  Plain-Dealer," 
or  between  Ben  and  Fondlewife  in  "  Love  for  Love "  ? 
What  touch  of  pathos  or  tender  feeling  do  we  treasure 
up,  what  prodigal  overflow  of  joyous  wit? 

We  have  already  commented  with  some  severity  on 
Dryden's  uncleanness,  which,  in  his  comedies,  amounts  to 
a  colossal  offence  against  the  primary  laws  of  decency 
and  good  taste.  In  our  English  literature  we  doubt 
whether  there  is  anything  like  it — it  is  so  constant,  so 
loudly  exhibited,  so  diffused.     It  taints  and  corrupts  the 


220 


THE  MEERY  MONAECH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


221 


active  atmosphere  of  his  comic  drama ;  every  character  is 
infected  by  it— the  wife,  the  husband,  the  young  maiden, 
the  lover,  the  priest,  the  cavalier,  the  king.  So  favour- 
able a  biographer  and  critic  as  Mr.  Saintsbury  is  obliged 
to  admit  that  it  is  unpardonable.  ''It  does  not  come  under 
any  of  the  numerous  categories  of  excuse  which  can  be 
devised  for  other  offenders  in  the  same  kind.  It  is  de- 
liberate, it  is  unnecessary,  it  is  a  positive  defect  in  art. 
When  the  culprit,  in  his  otherwise  dignified  and  not  un- 
successful confiteor  to  Collier,  endeavours  to  shield  himself 
by  the  example  of  the  elder  dramatists,  the  shield  is  seen 
at  once,  and  what  is  more,  we  know  that  he  must  have 
seen  it  himself,  to  be  a  mere  shield  of  paper.  But  in 
truth  the  heaviest  punishment  that  Dryden  could  possibly 
have  suffered,  the  punishment  which  Diderot  has  indi- 
cated as  inevitably  imminent  on  this  particular  offence, 
has  come  upon  him.  The  fouler  parts  of  his  work  have 
simply  ceased  to  be  read,  and  his  most  thorough  defenders 
can  only  read  them  for  the  purpose  of  appreciation  and 
defence  at  the  price  of  being  queasy  and  qualmish.  He 
has  exposed  his  legs  to  the  arrows  of  any  criticaster  who 
chooses  to  aim  at  him,  and  the  criticasters  have  not  failed 
to  jump  at  the  chance  of  so  noble  a  quarry." 

Yet,  while  admitting  all  these  defects,  we  should  be 
disposed  to  refer  to  Dryden^s  dramatic  work  as  presenting 
the  most  signal  and  convincing  evidence  of  his  remark- 
able powers.  It  was  written  '' against  the  grain ;  "  it  was 
written  with  the  writer's  knowledge  that  he  lacked  the 
faculty  which  alone  could  give  it  an  enduring  vitality ; 
yet  how  strong  it  is,  how  copious,  how  thoroughly  well 
done,  how  manly !  What  a  profusion  of  sonorous  and 
highly-coloured  verse — of  rolling,  vigorous  couplets  which 


seem  to  have  flowed  without  effort  from  his  spontaneous 
pen — of  terse  and  felicitous  expressions  of  judicious  re- 
flections and  wise  thoughts — of  ample,  picturesque, 
rhetoric,  which  has  a  dignity  and  a  robustness  that  are 
eminently  Dry  den's  own  !  Then,  in  his  lighter  scenes, 
how  continuous  is  the  vivacity,  how  inexhaustible  the 
bright  and  lively  dialogue,  which  is  not  witty,  and  seldom 
humorous,  and  yet  conveys  an  impression  of  wit  and 
humour  from  the  art  with  which  it  has  been  constructed, 
and  the  brisk  easiness  of  its  manner.  Of  what  can  be 
accomplished  by  a  man  of  rare  literary  talent,  who  is  en- 
dowed also  with  great  force  of  purpose  and  untiring  in- 
dustry, literature  affords  no  more  striking  example  than 
the  dramas  of  John  Dryden.  They  are  anything  you  like 
except  masterpieces  of  the  higher  dramatic  faculty; 
while  so  strong  was  his  resolution  and  so  varied  were  his 
endowments,  that  in  ''All  for  Love  "  and  "Don  Sebas- 
tian "  he  apj)roaches  even  these,  and  bad  Shakespeare 
never  lived,  might  probably  have  imposed  upon  us  to  an 
extent  that  we  are  now  unwilling  to  confess. 

Thomas,  or,  as  his  contemporaries  always  called  him, 
Tom,  D'Urfey,  was  born  between  1635  and  1640.  His 
family  were  originally  French,  and  his  parents  emigrated 
toEiii^land  about  1628.  Tom  was  educated  for  the  law;  a 
profession  which  he  soon  forsook,  "  under  a  persuasion," 
says  Hawkins,  ^'  which  some  poets  and  even  players  have 
been  very  ready  to  entertain  as  an  excuse  for  idleness  and 
an  indisposition  to  sober  reflection,  namely,  that  law  is  a 
study  so  dull  that  no  man  of  genius  can  submit  to  it/' 
D'Urfey,  we  suspect,  never  thought  himself  a  man  of 
genius,  but  he  was  conscious  of  considerable  parts,  and 
began  at  once  to  write  for  the  stage  as  offering  almost  the 


.'J%:ISGMS 


222 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


223 


il' 


only  available  road  to  distinction.     A  jovial  companion, 
able  to  write  a  good  song  and  to  sing  one,  and  a  ready 
wit,  he  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  Charles  II.  and 
his  "  merry  men,"  and  was  admitted  to  their  most  private 
symposia.     Many  of  his  lyrics  are  neatly  turned,  and  dis- 
play an  agreeable  gaiety  ;  but  nearly  all  are  disfigured  by 
indecency  to   such  an  extent  that  it   is   astonishing  how 
Purcell  and  Blow  could  be  induced  to  set  them  to  music, 
or  any  modest  woman  to  sing  them  in  public.       Their 
sensual   strains,   however,   were   highly    appreciated    by 
Charles,  with  whom  their  author  was   a  favourite.     "  I 
myself   remember,"    says    Addison,    "King   Charles   II. 
leaning   on     D'Urfey's   shoulder    more  than   once,  and 
humming  over  a  song  with  him."     He  was  also  greatly 
favoured  by  Lord  Buckhurst  (afterwards  Earl  of  Dorset), 
and   spent   many  jovial   hours    at  that    gay  nobleman's 
Kentish  country-seat,  which  he  describes  with  so  much 
unction  in  his  verses  on  the  Glory  of  Knoll:— 

"  Knoll  most  famous  in  Kent  still  appears, 
Were  mansions  surveyed  for  a  thousand  long  years  ; 
In  whose  dome  mighty  monarchs  might  dwell, 
Where  five  hundred  rooms  are,  as  Boswell  can  tell." 

There  is  a  portrait  of   D'Urfey   included   in  Vander- 
gucht's  picture,  "  A  Conservation  Piece,"  which  is  still 

preserved  at  Knowle. 

D'Urfey's  political  songs— he  was  a  strong  Tory  and  a 
vehement  "  No-Popery "  man-made  some  noise  in  their 
day.  His  tumid  ode,  "  Joy  to  Great  Casar,"  written  in 
the  latter  years  of  Charles  II.,  was  (says  Addison,  ironi- 
cally) such  a  blow  to  the  Whigs  that  they  did  not  recover 
from  it  all  that  reign.  Eevived  by  the  partisans  of  James 
II.  it  was  sung  at  every  loyal  gathering  and  shouted  in  the 
streets  by  ignorant  mobs.    Its  author  lived,  however,  to 


see  great  Csesar  deposed,  and  to  bear  allegiance  to  the  Whig 
Deliverer.  His  useless  career  was  extended  into  the  reign 
of  George  I.,  and  he  died  in  February,  1723,  when  he 
must  have  been  about  83  vears  of  ao*e. 

He  was  wont  to  say  that  he  had  written  more  odes  than 
Horace  and  more  comedies  than  Terence ;  but  then  their 
odes  and  comedies  were  meant  for  posterity,  while  his  were 
forgotten  almost  before  his   death.     His  poetical  pieces 
were  collected  in  1719-20,  under  the  title  of  '^  Wit  and 
Mirth  ;  or.  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy.''     "  I  cannot  suffi- 
ciently admire  the  facetious  title  of  these  volumes,"  wrote 
Addison,  with  gentle  sarcasm,^  ''  and  must   censure  the 
world  of  ingratitude  while  they  are  so  negligent  in  re- 
warding the  jocose  labours  of  my  friend,  Mr.  D'Urfey,who 
was  so  large  a  contributor  to  this  treatise,  and  to  whose 
humorous    productions  so    many  rural  squires  in  the  re- 
motest parts  of  this  island  are  obliged  for  the  dignity  and 
state  which  corpulency  gives  them.     It   is  my  opinion," 
he  adds,  'Hhat  the  above  pills  would  be  extremely  proper 
to  be  taken  with   asses'  milk,  and  might  contribute  to- 
wards the   renewing   and   restoring   of  decayed  luno-s." 
But  the  dulness,  even  more  than  the  indecency,  of  D'Urfey's 
verses  has  banished  them  from  the  library.     Of  his  plays 
none   are    remembered,   except    by  the   literary  student, 
though  they  include  comedies  (Heaven  save  the  mark !), 
interludes,  and  operas.     ''The   Fond  Husband;  or,  The 
Plotting  Sisters,"  was  first  acted  in  1C76.     "  This  comedy," 
says   Steele,  "  was  honoured  with  the  presence   of  King 
Charles  II.  three  of   the  first  five  nights  [a  fact  which 
proves  that  King  Charles  II.  was  easily  amused,  and  was 

*  In  The  Guardian,  No.  29.    D'Urfey's  original  title  was  "  Laugh  and  Be 
Fat ;  or,  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy." 


.^qpFSMUSCS 


224 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


I' 


not  so  good  a  judge  of  wit  as  he  is  generally  thought  to  have 
been].  My  friend  has  in  this  work  shown  himself  a  master, 
and  made  not  only  the  characters  of  the  play,  but  also  the 
furniture  of  the  house  contribute  to  the  main  design.    He 
has  also  made  excellent  use  of  a  table  with  a  carpet,  and 
the  key  of  a  closet ;  with  these  two  implements,  which 
would,  perhaps,  have  been   overlooked  by   an   ordinary 
writer,  he  contrives  the  most  natural  perplexities  that  ever 
were  represented  on  a  stage.     He  also  made  good  advan- 
tage of  his  knowledge  of  the  stage  itself  ;  for,  in  the  nick 
of°being  surprised,  the  lovers  are  let  down  and  escape  at 

a  trap-door." 

«  The  Injured  Princess ;  or,  The  Fatal  Wager,"  1682, 
is   a   wretched   travesty  of  Shakespeare's   « Cymbeline." 
D'Urfey,  who   touched  nothing  which  he  did  not  spoil, 
adapted   "  A   Commonwealth  of  Women,"    1686,  from 
Fletcher's   "  Sea  Voyage,"  and    "  A  Fool's  Preferment ; 
or.  The  Three  Dukes  of  Dunstable,"  1688,  from  the  tragedy 
of' "  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen."     He  wrote  a  comic  opera 
"  The  Two  Queens  of  Brentford ;  or,  Bayes  no  Poetaster," 
as  a  sequel  to  "The  Eehear.ul,"  but  it  has  none  of  the  fine 
humour  of  the  original.     His  best  dramatic  composition 
is  "The  Marriage-Hater  Matched,"  1693,  in  which  Dog- 
get,  the  actor-he  of  the  Thames  Watermen's  "  coat  and 
badge  "-first   gained   the   favour  of  the   theatre-going 

public.  * 

Writing  of  the  Comic  Drama  of  the  Restoration, 
Macaulay"  in  a  well-known  essay,  says,  with  only  too 
much  truth,  that  this  part  of  our  literature  is  a  disgrace 

*  To  his  last  play  Pope  wrote  a  prologue  (published  in  the  poet's  works) 

in  which  he  says :  ,        .^     , 

"  He  scorned  to  borrow  from  the  wits  of  yore, 
But  ever  writ,  as  none  e'er  writ  before." 


OB,    ENGLAND    UNDER   CHARLES   II.  £25 

to  our  language  and  our  national  character.    « It  is  clever 
indeed,   and  very   entertaining;    but  it  is,  in  the  most 
emphatic  sense  of  the  words,  '  earthly,  sensual,  devilish.' 
Its  indecency,  though  perpetually  such  as  is  condemned 
not  less  by  the  rules  of  good   taste,   than  by  those  of 
morality,  is  not,  in  our  opinion,  so  disgraceful  a  fault  as 
its  singularly  inhuman  spirit.     We  have  here  Belial,  not 
as  when  he  inspired    Ovid  and  Ariosto,    '  graceful' and 
humane,'  but  with  the  iron  eye  and  cruel  scorn  of  Mephis- 
tophiles.     We  find  ourselves  in  a  world,  in  which  the  ladies 
are  like  very  profligate,  impudent,  and  unfeeling  men,  and 
in  which  the  men  are  too  bad  for  any  place  but  Pande- 
monium, or  Norfolk  Island.     We  are  surrounded  by  fore- 
heads of  bronze,   hearts  like  the    nether  millstone,  and 
tongues  set  on  fire  of  hell." 

No  one  who  has  been  compelled  by  literary  exigencies 
to  drag  through  the  impurities  of  the  Eestoration  Drama 
wiU  think  this  censure  too  severe.     It  is  not  so  much  its 
indecency  of  which  one  has  to  complain  as  of  the  impurity 
which  pervades  it  like  a  malarious  atmosphere.     There  is 
indelicate  writing  even  in  Shakespeare,  but  it  is  to  a  great 
extent  accidental ;  it  does  not  enter  into  the  web  and  woof 
of  his  plays ;  it  never  affects  his  teaching.     Nowhere  is 
vice  justified  in  Shakespeare ;  nowhere  is  virtue  degraded 
and  made  to  look  ridiculous.     But  the  Restoration  Drama, 
like  so  much  of  the  modern  French  Drama,  is  the  apo- 
theosis of  sensuality  and  lust.     It  represents  every  woman 
as  at  heart  a  harlot  and  every  man  a  rake.     It  invests 
adultery  with  an  air  of  grace  and  fashion.    In  these  plays 
the  husband  is  always  a  booby  or  a  sot;  the  gallant  an 
airy,  agreeable,  genial,  and  elegant  gentleman.      "The 
dramatist  does  his  best  to  make  the  person  who  commits 

VOL.    I. 


226 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


227 


III 


the  injury  graceful,  sensible,  and  spirited,  and  tbe  person 
who  suffers  it  a  fool,  or  a  tyrant,  or  both." 

Why,  then,  should  these  plays  be  read '?     The  answer 
usually  given  alleges  two  reasons  ;  first,  their  wit,  and 
second,  their  value  as  reflecting  the  social  life  of  their 
age.     We  are  not   sure  that   either   is  satisfactory.     It 
seems  to  us  that  the  wit  and  humour  of  the  Restoration 
Drama  have  been  a  good  deal  exaggerated  ;  and  we  doubt 
whether  it  is  worth  the  while  of  ordinary  people  to  soil 
their  garments  and  themselves  by  hunting  for  sham  dia- 
monds in  the  depths  of  a  cloaca.    As  to  the  significance 
attributed  to  them  from  the  historical  point  of  view,  is 
not  this,  too,  exaggerated?     We  are  told  that  "  the  garb, 
the  manners,  the  topics  of  conversation,  are  those  of  the 
real  town  and  of  the  passing  day."    But  the  "  real  town  " 
must  have  been  confined  within  the  narrowest  limits,  must 
have  been  "  the  town  "  of  the  wits  and  the  courtiers,   the 
gallants  and  the  fine  ladies.      No  one  believes  that  Ethe- 
rege  and  Wycherley  and  Congreve  painted  the  manners 
and  morals  of  the  great  mass  of  English  society ;  that  all 
the  wives  of  England  were  adultresses,  and  all  the  hus- 
bands cuckolds.     The  age  that  produced  a  Rochester  and 
a  Duchess  of  Cleveland  produced  also  an  Algernon  Sidney 
and  a  Lady  Eachel  Russell.     To  go  to  the  Restoration 
Drama  for  a  picture  of  the  real  social  life  of  England  in 
the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth  century  would  be   as 
just  as  if  a  later  generation  turned  to  the  comedies  of  Mr. 
Byron  and  the  burlesques  of  Mr.  Burnand  for  a  picture  of 
English  social  life  in  the  Victorian  era.     What  it  does 
reproduce  is  the  narrow  and    shameless  world  in  which 
such  men  as  Buckingham  and  Killigrew  and  Chaffinch 
played  important  parts.     It  was  written  for  such  men— 


for  the  Roisterers  as  Henri  Taine  calls  them — for  such 
men,  and  for  the  women  with  whom  such  men  toyed  and 
trifled. 

Taine's  description  of  the  conditions  under  which  the 
Restoration  Drama  originated  and  flourished  seems  to  us 
admirable.      "  I  imagine,^'  he  says,  "  those  foppish  and 
half-intoxicated  men,  who  saw  in  love  nothing  beyond 
desire,  and  in  man  nothing  but  sensuality;  Rochester  in 
the  i3lace  of  Mercutio.     What   part  of    his   soul  could 
comprehend  poesy  and  fancy  ?     The  comedy  of  romance 
was  altogether  beyond  his  reach ;  he  could  only  seize  the 
actual  world,  and  of  this  world  but  the  palpable  and  gross 
externals.      Give  him  an  exact  picture  of  ordinary  life, 
commonplace  and  probable  occurrences,  literal  imitations' 
of  what  he  himself  was  and  did  ;  lay  the  scene  in  London, 
in  the  current  year ;  copy  his  coarse  words,  his  brutal  jokes,' 
his  conversation  with  the  orange  girls,  his  rendezvous  in 
the  Park,  his  attempts  at  French  dissipation.     Let  him 
recognise  himself,  let  him  find  again  the  people  and  the 
manners  he  had  just  left  behind  him  in  the  tavern  or  the 
ante-chamber;  let  the  theatre  and  the  street  reproduce 
one  another.     Comedy  will  give  him  the  same  entertain- 
ment as  real  life ;  he  will  wallow  equally  well  there  in 
vulgarity  and  lewdness ;  to  be  present  there  will  demand 
neither  imagination  nor  wit;  eyes  and  memory  are  the 
only  requisites.     This  exact  imitation  will  amuse  him  and 
instruct  him  at  the  same  time.     Filthy  words  will  make 
him  laugh  through  sympathy;    shameless  imagery  will 
divert  him  by  appealing  to  his  recollections.     ^  he  author, 
too,  will  take  care  to  amuse  him  by  his  plot,  which  gene- 
rally has  the  deceiving  of  a  father  or  a  husband  for  its 
subject.     The  fine  gentlemen  agree  with  the  author  in 


228 


THE    MEEEY   MONARCH  I 


siding  with  tlie  gallant ;  they  follow  his  fortunes  with 
interest,  and  fancy  that  they  themselves  have  the  same 
success  with  the  fair.  Add  to  this,  women  debauched, 
and  willing  to  be  debauched  ;  and  it  is  manifest  how  these 
provocations,  these  manners  of  prostitutes,  that  inter- 
change of  exchanges  and  surprises,  that  carnival  of  ren- 
dezvous and  suppers,  the  impudence  of  the  scenes  only 
stopping  short  of  physical  demonstration,  those  songs 
with  their  double  meaning,  that  coarse  slang  shouted 
loudly  and  replied  to  amidst  the  tableaux  vivants,  all  that 
stage-imitation  of  orgie,  must  have  stirred  up  the  inner- 
most feelings  of  the  habitual  practices  of  intrigue.  And 
what  is  more,  the  theatre  gave  its  sanction  to  their 
manners.  By  representing  nothing  but  vice,  it  authorised 
their  vices.  Authors  laid  it  down  as  a  rule  that  all  women 
were  impudent  hussies,  and  that  all  men  were  brutes. 
Debauchery  in  their  hands  became  a  matter  of  course, 
very  rare  a  matter  of  good  taste  ;  they  profess  it  : 
Eochester  and  Charles  II.  could  quit  the  theatre  highly 
edified ;  more  convinced  than  they  were  before  that  virtue 
was  only  a  pretence,  the  pretence  of  clever  rascals  who 
wanted  to  sell  themselves  dear." 

The  cleverest  of  the  Comic  Dramatists  of  the  Restoration 
was  Sir  George  Etherege,  whose  first  comedy,  "  The 
Comical  Eevenge ;  or,  Love  in  a  Tub,"  was  produced  in 
IGOl,  at  the  Duke's  Theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  It 
met  with  a  most  successful  reception,  and  at  once  intro- 
duced its  author  into  Charles  ll/s  circle  of  intimate 
friends.  Etherege  dedicated  it  to  the  accomplished  Buck- 
hurst,  afterwards  Earl  of  Dorset,  with  a  graceful  com- 
pliment:  "I  could  not  have  wished  myself  more  for- 
tunate than  I  have  been,  in  the  success  of  this  poem :  the 


OHj    ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


229 


writing  of  it  was  a  means  to  make  me  known  to  your  lord- 
ship; the  acting  of  it  has  lost  me  no  reputation;  and  the 
printing  of  it  has  now  given  me  an  opportunity  to  show 
you  how  much  I  honour  you."  The  ease  and  liveliness 
of  the  dialogue  attracted  such  large  audiences  to 
Lincoln^s  Inn  Fields,  that  in  a  single  month  the  manage- 
ment realized  a  profit  of  £1,000.  The  heroes  are  Colonel 
Bruce  and  Lord  Beaufort ;  the  heroines,  Graciana  and 
Aurelia.  The  object  of  the  author  seems  to  have  been  "  the 
forcible  exhibition  of  the  roarers,  scorn ers,  gamblers,  and 
cheats  who  then  infested  the  town,  and  made  the  taverns 
ring  day  and  night  with  their  riots.  Mixed  up  with  these 
rampant  scenes  is  a  pure  love  story,  treated  more  gravely 
and  earnestly  than  usual."  This,  however,  is  the  weakest 
portion  of  the  play. 

Four  years  elapsed  before  Etherege  again  appealed  to 
the  suffrages  of  the  town.  His  second  comedy,  "  She 
Would  If  She  Could,"  16G8,  was  ^^  barbarously  treated  " 
on  the  first  night,  and  in  our  humble  opinion  deserved  the 
rough  treatment  it  received.  Pepys  could  find  "nothing 
in  the  world  good  in  it;"  and  says  that  "few  people 
were  pleased  with  it."  He  characterises  the  plot  and  de- 
nouement  as  "mighty  insipid,"  and  the  piece  as  a  whole 
(somewhat  contradictory)  as  "  dull,  roguish,  and  witty." 
By  degrees,  however,  it  became  popular.  Shadwell  after- 
wards pronounced  it  the  best  comedy  written  since  the 
Eestoration ;  and  Dennis,  the  critic,  eulogised  its  truth 
of  character  and  the  grace  and  freedom  of  its  dialogue. 
Steele,  with  much  pungency  and  truth,  remarks :  "  I 
know  but  one  who  has  professedly  written  a  play  upon  the 
basis  of  the  desire  of  multiplying  our  species :  and  that  is 
the  polite  Sir  George  Etherege.     No  author,  except  him. 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


has  put  the  imaginations  of  tlie  audience  upon  this 
one  purpose  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the 
comedy." 

In  1676  appeared  his  third,  last,  and  best  comedj,. 
"  The  Man  of  Mode ;  or,  Sir  Fopling  Flutter,"  in  which 
Dorimont  stands  for  the  Earl  of  Eochester,  Bellair  for 
Etherege  himself,"^  and  Sir  Fopling  for  Beau  Hewitt, 
a  well-known  fine  gentleman  of  the  period.  There  is 
no  doubt  as  to  the  ease  and  cleverness  of  the  dialogue, 
but  the  whole  plaj  is  an  offence  against  morality;  and 
it  is  a  curious  trait  of  the  times  that  so  libertine  a 
production  should  have  been  dedicated  to  Mary  of  Modena, 
then  Duchess  of  York.  "  It  is  a  perfect  contradiction," 
writes  Steele,  "  to  good  manners,  good  sense,  and  common 
honesty ;  and  there  is  nothing  in  it  but  what  is  built 
upon  the  ruin  of  virtue  and  innocence.  I  allow  it  to 
be  nature,  but  it  is  nature  in  its  utmost  con-uption  and 
degeneracy." 

Etherege,  who  came  of  a  good  Oxfordshire  family,  was 
born  about  1636.  After  being  educated  at  Cambridge,  he 
travelled  abroad  ;  then  studied  law  for  awhile  at  one  of 
the  Inns  of  Court,  and,  at  the  age  of  28,  made  his  dehiU 
as  a  dramatic  author.  Having  thus  gained  admission  to 
the  society  of  the  wits  and  rakes  of  the  Eestoration,  he 
expended  his  time  and  estate  in  wild  revels  in  the  taverns 
and  the  stews,  and  at  the  gaming  table ;  and  in  the  next 
twelve  years  wrote  only  two  more  comedies.  Bankrupt  in 
health   and  means,  he  paid  his  addresses   to  a  wealthy 

*  Spence  records  the  opinion  of  Etherege's  contemporary^  Dean  Lockier, 
that  the  dramatist  intended  Dorimont  for  himself.  "  Sir  George  Etherege," 
he  said,  "  was  as  thorough  a  fop  as  ever  I  saw  ;  he  was  exactly  his  own  Sir 
Fopling  Flutter,  and  yet  he  designed  Dorimont,  the  genteel  rake  of  wit,  for 
his  own  picture." 


I 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


231 


widow,  who,  it  is  said,  refused  to  marry  him  unless  he 
"  could  make  her  a  lady."  He  purchased,  therefore,  "  the 
honour "  of  knighthood,  and  to  "  Sir  George  "  she  was 
induced  to  give  her  hand.  It  may  be  assumed  that  he 
soon  dissipated  her  fortune,  since  we  find  him  compelled 
to  take  refuge  from  his  creditors  on  the  Continent,  where, 
through  the  Duke  of  York's  influence,  he  obtained  the 
post  of  Minister  at  Ratisbon,  and  was  doomed — 

"  To  make  grave  legs  in  formal  fetters, 
Converse  with  fops  and  write  dull  letters; 
To  go  to  bed  'twixt  eiglit  and  nine, 
And  sleep  away  my  procioiis  time  ; 
In  such  an  idle,  sneaking  })lace 
Where  Vice  and  Folly  hide  their  face.'* 

At  Ratisbon  Etherege  died  about  1694 — breaking  his 
neck  by  a  fall  downstairs,  when,  intoxicated  with  wine,  he 
was  showing  out  the  guests  who  had  shared  his  drinking 
bout. 

Etherege  left  a  daughter  by  Mrs.  Barry,  on  whom  he 
settled  a  fortune  of  £6,000.  Se  is  said  to  have  been  a  very 
handsome  man,  *^fair,  slender,  and  genteel" — a  man  of 
"  much  courtesy  and  delicate  address.'^ 

Another  of  the  dramatic  knights  of  the  Restoration  was 
the  Tory  cavalier.  Sir  Francis  Fane,  who  wrote  a  tragic 
drama,  called  ''  Sacrifice,"  a  masque,  and  a  comedy, 
entitled  "Love  in  the  Dark" — from  which  Mrs.  Centlivre 
has  taken  the  character  of  Indigo,  and  transplanted 
it,  with  improvements,  into  the  comedy  of  "  The  Busy- 
body "  as  its  hero,  Marj)lot. 

'^  A  freezing  mediocrity  "  is  the  characteristic  which  Sir 
Walter  Scott  attributes  to  the  plays  of  Sir  Robert  Howard,. 
the  brother-in-law  of  Dryden,  and  his  collaborateur  in 
'^The  Indian   Qyeen."     Howard,   born   in  1626,   was   a 


232 


THE   MEREY    MONARCH; 


OR,    ENGLAND    UNDER   CHARLES    II. 


233 


younger  son  of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Berkshire;  and,  with 
the  rest  of  his  family,  espoused  the  cause  of  Charles  I. 
throughout  the  Civil  War.  For  his  loyalty  he  suffered 
a  long  imprisonment  in  Windsor  Castle.  After  the 
Eestoration  he  was  knighted,"^  was  made  an  auditor 
of  the  Exchequer,  with  a  salary  of  £3,000,  and  became 
member  for  Stockbridge.  In  the  year  of  the  King's 
return  he  published  a  vokime  of  Poems,  containing  Pane- 
gyricks  to  the  King  and  to  General  Monk,  translations  of 
the  fourth  book  of  the  jEneid,  and  of  the  Achilleis  of 
Statius,  a  comedy  called  "The  Blind  Lady,"  and  a 
number  of  indifferent  Songs  and  Sonnets.  Prefixed  to 
it  were  some  very  eulogistic  verses  by  Dryden,  now 
included  in  his  Epistles,  of  which  we  may  give  a  speci- 
men:— 

"  As  there  is  music  uninformed  by  art 
In  those  wild  notes  which,  with  a  merry  heart, 
The  birds  in  unfrequented  shades  express, 
Who,  better  taught  at  home,  yet  i)lea8e  us  less  ; 
So  in  your  verse  a  native  sweetness  dwells, 
Which  shames  composure,  and  its  art  excels." 

He  refers  to  Howard's  translations  : — 

"  Elisa's  griefs  are  so  expressed  by  you, 
They  are  too  ekxiuent  to  have  been  true. 
Had  she  so  spoke,  /Eiiea.s  liad  obeyed 
What  Dido,  rather  ihim  what  Juve  had  said. 
If  funeral  rites  can  give  a  ghost  repose, 
Your  muse  so  justly  ha>  di.seharged  those, 
Elisa's  shade  may  now  its  wanderiug  cease  .  .  . 
But  if  ^neas  be  obliged,  no  less 
Your  kindness  great  Achilles  doth  confess  : 
Who,  dressed  by  Statius  in  too  boki  a  look, 
Did  ill  become  those  virgin  robes  he  took." 

Dryden,  who,  it  must  be  owned,  when  he  paid  com- 

*  Howard  saved  Rochester's  life  in  the  skkmish  at  Cropredy  Bridge. 


pliments,   paid   them   right   royally,    concludes    with    a 
prediction  : — 

"  But  to  write  worthy  things  of  worthy  men —  " 

(the  worthy  men  being  Monk  and  Charles  II). 

"  Is  the  peculiar  talent  of  your  pen : 
Yet  let  me  take  your  mantle  up,  and  I 
Will  venture  in  your  right  to  prophesy. 
This  work,  by  merit  first  of  fame  secure, 
Is  likewise  happy  in  its  geniture  ; 
For,  since  'tis  born  when  Charles  ascends  the  throne, 
It  shares  at  once  his  fortune  and  its  own." 

It  is  supposed  that  Dryden  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Howard  through  Herringman,  the  publisher.  At  all 
events,  after  the  publication  of  this  poetical  eulogium, 
the  knight  warmly  befriended  the  poet,  and  introduced 
him  to  the  Earl  of  Berkshire,  at  Charlton,  in  Berkshire, 
where  the  two  worked  together  on  the  tragedy  of  "  The 
Indian  Queen,"  ^  and  Dryden  secured  the  heart  and  hand 
of  Howard's  sister  Elizabeth.  The  marriage  took  place 
on  the  1st  of  December,  1663,  and  in  the  following  month, 
January,  1664,  was  produced  the  tragedy,  which,  with 
another  tragedy,  '^  The  Vestal  Queen,"  and  two  comedies, 
"  The  Surprisal,"  and  "  The  Committee,"  Howard  pub- 
lished in  1665  under  the  title  of  "Four  New  Plays." 

In  the  preface  to  this  volume  Howard  states  his  argu- 
ment in  favour  of  the  use  of  blank  verse  in  the  drama,  in 
opposition  to  Dry  den's  plea  for  rhymed  couplets.  "  Another 
way  of  the  ancients,"  he  says,  "  which  the  French  follow, 
and  our  stage  has  now  lately  practised,  is  to  write  in 
rhyme;  and  this  is  the  dispute  betwixt  many  ingenious 
persons,  whether  verse  in  rhyme   or  verse  without  the 

*  Evelyn   records  that,    on  January  5th,   1664,  he  saw   "  The   Indian 
Queen  "  acted  ;  a  "  tragedy  well  written,  so  beautiful  with  rich  scenes  as 
the  like  had  never  been  seen  here,  or  haply  (except  rarely)  elsewhere  ia 
.a  mercenary  theatre." 


234 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH. 


OR,  ENGLAND  FNDER  CHARLES  II. 


235 


i 


^ 


sound,  whicli  may  be  called  blank  verse  (tliougb  a  hard 
expression),  is  to  be  preferred?"  He  esteemed  both 
proper,  "  one  for  a  play,  the  other  for  a  poem  or  copy  of 
verses :  a  blank  verse  being  as  much  too  low  for  one 
as  rhyme  is  unnatural  for  the  other :  a  poem  being  a 
premeditated  form  of  thought  upon  designed  occasions, 
ought  not  to  be  impoverished  of  any  harmony  iu  words 
or  sound  ;  the  other  is  presented  as  the  effect  of  accidents 
not  tlioii<4'lit  of."  Our  later  dramatists  have  all  been  of 
Howard's  opinion  ;  but  Dry  den  stuck  to  his  colours,  and  in 
his ''Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesie,"  in  1669,  a  kind  of  ''ima- 
ginary conversation  "  in  which  Howard  figures  as  Crites, 
Buckhurst  as  Eugenius,  Sedley  as  Lisideius,  and  the  poet 
himself  as  T^eander,  he  stoutly  contended  for  dramas  in 
rhyme.  Nothing  daunted,  Howard  returned  to  the  charge 
in  his  preface  to  his  tragedy,  '^  The  Great  Favourite ; 
or,  The  Duke  of  Lerma/'  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  firing 
the  last  shot. 

This  tragedy  is  remarkable  for  the  force  of  its  satire^ 
which,  without  much  effort  at  disguise,  is  directed  against 
Charles  II.  and  his  seraglio.  Its  resonant  periods  are 
caricatured  by  Fielding  in  his  burlesque  of"  Tom  Thumb." 

To  his  play  of  "  The  Vestal  Virgins ;  or,  The  Eouian 
Ladies,"  Howard  wrote  two  endings,  one  tragical,  the 
other  "  comical,"  and  left  the  public  to  choose  between 
them.  His  best  dramatic  effort  is  his  comedy  of  "  The 
Committee ;  or.  The  Faithful  Irishman,"  in  which  the 
humorous  aspects  of  Puritanism  are  amusingly  por- 
trayed."^ It  is  the  original  of  the  farce  of  "Honest 
Thieves,"  which  still  keeps  the  stage. 

*  Pepys  speaks  of  it   (June  12th,  1663)  as  "  a  merry  but  indifferent  play, 
only  Lacy's  part,  an  Irish  footman,  is  beyond  imagination." 


His  bad  verses  and  his  personal  pretensions  exposed 
Howard  to  immortal  ridicule.  Under  the  name  of  Bilboa 
lie  was  the  original  hero  of  "The  Eehearsal,"  though 
afterwards  deposed  from  the  unlucky  pre-eminence  in 
favour  of  Dryden ;  and  in  ShadwelPs  play  of  "  The  Sullen 
Lovers  "  he  is  satirised  as  Sir  Positive  At-All. 

A  stout  Whig,  Sir  Eobert  was  no  bigot,  nor  was  he  a 
servile  courtier ;  while,  in  Parliament,  he  had,  as  Macaulay 
admits,  "  the  weight  whicli  a  staunch  party  man  of  ample 
fortune,  of  illustrious  name,  of  ready  utterance,  and  of 
resolute  spirit  will  always  have."  He  took  an  active  part 
in  the  debates  on  the  Corporation  Bill  in  1690,  and  success- 
fully opposed  the  decision  of  the  Peers  to  confirm  the  illegal 
sentence  passed  upon  Titus  Gates — not  that  he  loved  the 
man,  but  that  he  loved  the  law.  He  died  at  the  age  of  72, 
in  1698. 

^'The  solid  nonsense  that  abides  all  tests."  Such,  in 
Dorset's  opinion,  was  the  poetry  of  Sir  Eobert^s  brother, 
Edward  Howard,  the  author  of  several  bad  plays,  and  the 
worse  poem  of ''  Bonduca,  The  British  Princess  "  (1669), — 
whom  Pope  has  niched  in  the  Dunciad  — 

"  And  highborn  Howard,  more  majestic  Bire, 
With  Fool  of  Quality  completes  the  quire." 

All  the  wits  girded  at  him — Waller,  Eochester,  Bucking- 
ham. He  wrote  six  or  seven  dramas,  which  neither  his 
contemporaries  nor  posterity  have  been  able  to  appreciate. 
In  his  tragedy  of  '^  The  Usurper  "  he  attempted  satire  on  a 
grand  scale,  and  Damocles  is  supposed  to  represent  Oliver 
Cromwell,  Cleomenes  General  Monk,  and  Hugo  de  Petra 
Cromwell's  chaplain,  Hugh  Peters.  From  one  of  his 
comedies  Mrs.  Inchbald  borrowed  some  of  the  incidents- 
in  her  "  Every  One  Has  His  Fault." 


236 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


237 


The  third  and  last  of  the  Berkshire  Howards  was  James 
Howard,  whose  "mighty  pretty,  witty,  pleasant,  and 
mirthful  comedy"  (as  Pepys  styles  it),  "The  English 
Monsieur/'  is  ridiculed  in  Buckingham's  "  Eehearsal.'' 
The  hero  is  represented  as  smitten  with  Gallomania,  and 
railing  at  everything  English,  whether  cookery,  clothing, 
or  dancing.  He  challenges  a  man  for  praising  an  English 
divine,  and,  being  victorious,  boasts—"  I  ran  him  through 
his  mistaken  palate,  which  made  me  think  the  hand  of 
justice  guided  my  sword."  He  loves  a  French  lady,  who 
rejects  him,  but  as  it  was  "  a  denial  with  a  French  tone 
of  voice  "  he  finds  it  positively  agreeable.  As  she  takes 
final  leave  of  him,  he  turns  to  a  friend,  and  exclaims: 
"  Do  you  see,  sir,  how  she  leaves  us ;  she  walks  away  with 
a  French  step !  "  Of  course,  he  prefers  the  airy  gait  of 
the  French  ladies  to  the  clumsy  shuffling  of  the  English : 
"  I  have  seen  such  hojine  amie  in  their  footsteps,  that  the 
King  of  France's  mditre  de  danse  could  not  have  found 
fault  with  any  one  tread  amongst  them  all.  In  these 
walks  I  find  the  toes  of  English  ladies  ready  to  tread  upon 
one  another." 

According  to  some  authorities,  Thomas  Killigrew,  wit, 
dramatist,  and  courtier,  was  born  at  his  father's  seat, 
Hanworth  Park,  near  Hounslow;  but  in  a  copy  of 
Diodati's  Bible,  sold  in  Dean  Wellesley's  library,  in  1866, 
among  several  entries  on  the  reverse  of  the  title  page,  in 
his  own  handwriting,  is  one  which  distinctly  states  that 
he  was  "  born  at  Lothbury,  London,"  on  February  the  7th, 
1611.  He  was  the  son  of  Sir  Eobert  Killigrew,  Chamber- 
Iain  to  Queen  Henrietta  Maria,  and  younger  brother  of  Dr. 
William  Killigrew,  the  friend  and  servant  of  Charles  I. 
and  II.,   and  author  of  some  dramatic  pieces.     Thomas 


was  early  introduced  to  Court  life,  being  made  a  page  of 
honour  to  Charles  I.  while  in  his  teens.  He  married  a 
maid  of  honour,  accompanied  Charles  II.  into  exile,  and, 
as  groom  of  the  bedchamber,  won  the  young  monarch's 
favour  by  his  wit,  and  retained  it  by  his  subservient 
profligacy.  In  opposition  to  the  remonstrances  of  his 
sager  counsellors,  Charles  appointed  him  Eesident  at 
Venice,  his  chief  duty  being  to  obtain  loans  from  the 
English  merchants  there;  but  his  shameful  vices  occasioned 
such  a  scandal  that  the  Venetian  Government  compelled 
Charles  to  recall  him.  He  wrote  six  plays  while  at  Venice ; 
a  feat  to  which  Sir  John  Denliam  alludes  in  some  satiric 
verses : — 

"  Our  Resident  Tom 

From  Venice  is  come, 
And  has  left  all  the  statesmen  behind  him  ; 

Talks  at  the  same  })itch, 

Is  as  wise,  is  as  rich  ; 
And  just  where  you  left  him,  you  find  him. 

But  who  says  he's  not 

A  man  of  much  plot 
May  repent  of  this  false  accusation  ; 

Having  plotted  and  penned 

Six  plays  to  attend 
On  the  force  of  his  negotiation.'' 

When  Killigrew  published,  in  1G64,  a  collection  of  nine 
of  his  plays,  he  noted,  however,  that  they  had  been  written 
in  as  many  different  cities — London,  Paris,  Madrid,  Eome, 
Turin,  Florence,  Venice,  Naples,  and  Basle — which,  if 
true,  spoils  the  j)oint,  such  as  it  is,  of  Sir  John  Denham's 
epigram. 

While  Killigrew  played  the  part  of  pander  and  jester 
to  Charles,  he  seems  also  to  have  acted  as  a  spy  upon 
him,  and  to  have  been  in  receipt  of  Judas-money  from 
the  Commonwealth  Government.     Downing,  CromwelF& 


^38 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


239 


ambassador  at  the  Hague,  writing  to  Secretary  Tliurloe, 
in  1658,  respecting  a  clandestine  visit  of  Charles  to  the 
Dutch  Court,  says  : — ''  As  for  Charles  Stuart  having  been 
in  Holland,  surely  you  had  my  memorial  thereof  :  at  the 
very  time,  I  had  an  account  from  one  Killigrew,  of  his 
bedchamber,  of  every  place  where  he  was,  and  the  time, 
with  his  stay  and  company,  of  which  also  I  gave  you  an 
account  in  mine  of  the  last  post :  he  vowed  that  it  was  a 
journey  of  pleasure,  and  that  none  of  the  States-General, 
nor  any  person  of  note,  of  Amsterdam,  came  to  him." 

After  the  Restoration  Killigrew  obtained  from  the 
King  (in  16G3)  a  patent  empowering  him  to  open  a 
theatre  in  London,  and  established  himself  in  Drury 
Lane  at  the  head  of  the  so-called  "  King's  Company.'^  * 
He  opened  it  iu  August  with  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's 
play  of  "The  Humorous  Lieutenant,'^  and  the  principal 
actors  were  Hart,  Mohun,  Kynaston,  Lacy,  Bird,  Baxter, 
Hancock,  and  the  Shatterals ;  the  principal  actresses, 
Mrs.  Corry,  Hughes,  Knipp,  the  Marshalls,  and  Uphill. 
Later  additions  were  Goodman,  Haines,  Harris,  Shirley  ; 
Nell  Gwynn  and  Mrs.  Boutell.  The  members  of  this 
company  Avere  sworn  at  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  office  to 
serve  the  King.  Ten  of  the  gentlemen  were  enrolled  on 
the  establishment  of  the  Eoyal  Household,  and  provided 
with  liveries  of  scarlet  cloth  and  silver  lace.  In  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  warrants  they  were  designated  '^  Gentle- 
men of  the  Great  Chamber." 

As  Groom  of  the  Bedchamber  to  the  King  and  Master 


*  He  seems  to  have  had  an  early  pcnc/iant  for  the  drama.  Pepys  relates  : 
"Tlios.  Killigrew's  way  of  gettinff  to  see  playa  when  he  wjis  a  bf»y.  He 
would  go  to  the  lied  Bull  (the  theatre),  and  when  the  man  cried  to  the  boys, 
•  Who  will  go  and  be  a  devil,  and  he  shall  see  the  play  for  nothing  ? '  then 
would  he  go  in,  and  be  a  devil  upon  the  stage,  and  so  get  to  see  plays." 


of  the  Eevels,  Killigrew  filled  no  unimportant  position  at 
a  Court  where  the  great  object  of  everybody,  monarch  and 
courtiers,  nymphs  and  gallants,  was  to  devise  the  best  and 
brightest    means    four  passer  le   temps.     He   was   of  a 
sprightly  and  witty  humour,  says  Hamilton,  and  had  the 
art  of  telling  a  story  in  the  most  entertaining  manner,  by 
the  graceful  and  natural  turn  he  could  give  it.     Charles 
delighted  in  his  repartees,  even  when  they  wounded  him 
to  the  quick.     According  to  the  poet  Cowley,  who  pro- 
fessed to  have  been  present,  Killigrew,  on  one  occasion, 
publicly  told  the  King  that  his  matters  were  coming  into 
a  very  ill  state,  but  that  yet  there  was  a  way  to  help  all. 
Says  he  :  "  There  is  a  good,  honest,  able  man  that  I  could 
name,  that  if  your  Majesty  would  employ,  and  command 
to  see  all  things  well  executed,  all  things  would  soon  be 
mended;   and  this  is  one  Charles  Stuart,  who  now  spends 
his  time  in  employing  his  life  about  the  court,  and  hath  no 
other  employment ;  but  if  you  would  give  him  this  employ- 
ment, he  were  the  fittest  man  in  the  world  to  perform 
it."-^ 

Entering  the  Eoyal  apartment,  one  day,  booted  and 
spurred,  and  with  riding-whip  in  hand,  he  sharply  replied 
to  the  King's  question,  whither  he  was  going  in  such  a 
violent  hurry :  "  To  Hell,  sir!  to  fetch  up  Oliver  Crom- 
well, to  look  after  the  afPairs  of  England,  for  his  successor 
never  will." 

Another  time,  when  the  Council  had  assembled,  and  the 

King,  as  usual,  had  not  made  his  appearance,  the  Duke  of 

Lauderdale  hastened  to  remonstrate   with   him,    but  in 

vain.      Eeturning   from  the   presence-chamber,   he   met 

Killigrew,  who,  on  being  acquainted  with  his  brother's 

*  Pepys'  Diary,  December  Oth,  1666. 


240 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


errand,  offered  a  wager  of  £100  that  Charles  should 
attend  the  Council  in  half  an  hour.  Feeling  sure  of 
winning  the  money,  Lauderdale  accepted  it.  Killigrew 
repaired  at  once  to  the  King's  apartment,  and  informed 
him  of  the  whole  circumstances.  "I  know,''  he  pro- 
ceeded, "that  your  Majesty  hates  Lauderdale:  now,  if 
you  only  go  this  once  to  the  Council,  I  know  his  covetous 
disposition  so  well  that,  rather  than  pay  the  £100,  he  will 
hang  himself,  and  never  plague  you  again/'  Charles, 
with  a  burst  of  laughter,  exclaimed,  "  Well,  Killigrew,  I 
^positively  will  go."     He  kept  his  word,  and  Killigrew  won 

his  wager. 

Oldys  asserts  that  he  was  appointed  King's  jester ;  and 
Pepys  records  that  he  was  told,  by  a  Mr.  Brisbane,  that  he 
had  "  a  fee  out  of  the  Wardrobe  for  cap  and  bells,  under 
the  title  of  King's  Fool  or  Jester,  and  may  revile  or  jeer 
anybody,  the  greatest  person,  without  offence,  by  the 
privilege  of  his  place."    But  the  story  is  improbable. 

Killigrew  was  not  without  his  good  impulses  and  refined 
tastes.  He  gave  with  a  lavish  hand  to  the  poor,  and  he 
was  a  passionate  lover  of  good  music.  He  showed  both 
tact  and  enterprise  as  a  theatrical  manager.  In  Pepys 
there  is  a  note  of  conversation  between  the  Diarist  and  the 
Manager  which  is  full  of  curious  interest.  Its  date  is  the 
12th  of  February,  1667  :  "  Thos.  Killigrew  tells  me,"  he 
says,  "  how  the  audience  at  his  house  is  not  above  half  so 
much  as  it  used  to  be  before  the  late  Fire.  That  Knii)p  is 
like  to  make  the  best  actor  that  ever  came  upon  the  stage, 
she  understanding  so  well :  that  they  are  going  to  give 
her  £30  a  year  more.  That  the  Stage  is  now  by  his  pains 
a  thousand  times  better  and  more  glorious  than  ever 
heretofore.    Now,  wax  candles,  and  many  of  them  :  then, 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


241 


not  above  31bs.  of  tallow :  now  all  things  civil,  no  rude- 
ness anywhere ;  then,  as  in  a  bear-garden  ;  then,  two  or 
three  fiddlers,  now,  nine  or  ten  of  the  best:  then, 
nothing  but  rushes  upon  the  ground,  and  everything  else 
mean,  now,  all  otherwise :  then  the  Queen  seldom,  and 
the  King  never,  would  come ;  now,  not  the  King  only  for 
state,  but  all  civil  people  do  think  they  may  come  as  weU 
as  any.  He  tells  me  that  he  hath  gone  several  times 
(eight  or  ten  times,  he  tells  me)  hence  to  Eome,  to  hear 
good  music ;  so  much  he  loves  it,  though  he  never  did  sing 
or  play  a  note.  That  he  hath  ever  endeavoured  in  the 
late  King's  time,  and  in  this,  to  introduce  good  music,  but 
he  never  could  do  it,  there  never  having  been  any  music 
here  better  than  ballads.  And  (he)  says  '  Hermit  poore  * 
and  '  Chivy  Chese '  [Chevy  Chase  "^J  was  all  the  music  we 
had  j  and  yet  no  ordinary  fiddlers  get  so  much  money  as 
ours  do  here,  which  speaks  our  rudeness  still.  That  he 
hath  gathered  in  Italians  from  several  courts  in 
Christendom,  to  come  to  make  a  concert  for  the  King, 
which  he  do  give  £200  a  year  apiece  to  ;  but  badly  paid, 
and  do  come  in  the  room  of  keeping  four  ridiculous 
Gnndilows,  he  having  got  the  King  to  put  them  away, 
and  lay  out  their  money  this  way.  And  indeed  I  do  com- 
mend him  for  it ;  for  I  think  it  is  a  very  noble  under- 
taking. He  do  intend  to  have  sometimes  of  the  year 
these  operas  to  be  performed  at  the  two  present  theatres, 
since  he  is  defeated  in  what  he  intended  in  Moorfields  on 
purpose  for  it.  And  he  tells  me  plainly  that  the  city 
audience  was  as  good  as  the  court;  but  now  they  are 
most  gone." 


*  This  was  sung  to  three  different  airs,  of  which  the  most  popular  was 
"The  hunt  is  up." 

VOL.   I.  B 


242 


THE    MERRr    MONARCH; 


One  regrets  tliat  so  good  a  lover  of  music  should  have 
been  implicated  with  Lord  Falmouth,  the  Earl  of  Anson, 
and  other  so-called  ''men  of  honour,"  in  the  shameful 
attempt  to  blacken  the  character  of  Anne  Hjde,  Lord 
Clarendon's  daughter,  just  before  the  Duke  of  York's 
public  declaration  of  their  marriage.  Killigrew,  in  his 
zeal,  went  further  than  any  in  aspersing  her  chastity,  and 
in  writing  himself  down  a  villain  ;  and  not  the  least  re- 
marlvable  part  of  the  transaction  is  the  fact  that  the  Duke 
seems  to  have  taken  no  umbrage  at  the  slander  cast  upon 
his  wife. 

Killigrew  died  at  Whitehall,  in  his  72nd  year,  on  the 
19th  of  March,  1682.  Of  his  dull  and  dreary  ''Comedies 
and  Tragedies  "  the  only  one  which  is  now  remembered, 
*'The  Parson's  AVedding,"  owes  its  incidents  in  great 
measure  to  Shakerly  Marmion's  comedy  of  "  The  Anti- 
quary.''    It  was  originally  represented  wholly  by  women. 

By  his  first  wife,  Cecilia,  daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Croft, 
of  Suffolk,  and  one  of  Henrietta  Maria's  maids  of  honour, 
he  became  the  father  of  Henry  Killigrew,  one  of  the  most 
reckless  libertines  of  Charles's  libertine  court.  He  was 
usually  styled  "  the  younger,"  to  distinguish  him  from  his 
uncle,  Dr.  Henry  Killigrew,  Almoner  to  the  Duke  of 
York,  and  Master  of  the  Savoy.  His  name  is  preserved 
in  our  theatrical  annals  by  his  once  popular  play,  "  The 
Conspiracy,"  which  both  Ben  Jonson  and  Lord  Falkland 
thought  worthy  of  favourable  notice.  It  was  revised  by 
the  author,  and  as  **  Pallantire  and  Eudora,"  republished 
in  1653.     He  died  about  forty  years  later. 

John  Lacy,  the  actor,  whom  Tom  D'Urfey  celebrates  as 
"the  standard  of  true  comedy,"  was  born  near  Doncaster 
about  1620.  He  was  trained  to  be  a  dancing-master,  but  ob- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


243 


taining  a  lieutenant's  commission,  entered  the  army,  only 
to  quit  it,  after  very  brief  military  service,  for  the  stage. 
His  handsome  person  and  rich  racy  humour  made  him  a 
great  favourite  with  the  public,  while  with  Charles  II.  he 
was  in  such  esteem  that  the  king  caused  Wright  to  paint  for 
him  that  triple  portrait  which  at  Hampton  Court  attracts 
the  curious  visitor's  gaze.  He  was  the  original  Teague 
in  Howard's  play  of  "  The  Committee,"  and  Bayes  in  Buck- 
ino-ham's  "Rehearsal,"  while  he  excelled  as  Falstaff,  and 
never  failed  in  any  character  that  he  undertook.  A  man 
with  a  dangerous  satiric  gift,  he  loved  those  parts  in  which 
he  could  hurl  sarcasms  at  the  ill-doings  of  the  courtiers ; 
and  in  Howard's  "  Silent  Woman,"  in  which  he  played 
Captain  Otter,  used  his  tongue  so  freely  that  the  King, 
greatly  offended,  shut  him  up  in  the  Porter's  Lodge.  In  a 
few  days  he  was  released,  and  Howard,  going  behind  the 
scenes  to  congratulate  him,  was  so  roundly  abused  by  the 
actor,  who  told  him  he  was  "more  a  fool  than  a  poet," 
tbat  Hov/ard  struck  him  in  the  face  with  his  glove.  Lacy, 
bursting  with  rage,  brought  his  cane  down  upon  the  head 
of  the  unlucky  dramatist,  who  thereupon  hastened  to  the 
King  and  made  complaint.  Charles  ordered  the  theatre  to 
be  closed,  a  punishment  which  was  harder  upon  Lacy's 
fellow-actors  than  upon  Lacy  himself. 

Lacy  appears  in  this  chapter  as  a  dramatic  author :  he 
produced  four  plays— "The  Dumb  Lady,"  1672;  "Old 
Troop,"  1672;  "Sir  Hercules  Buffoon"  (posthumous), 
1681;  and  "  Sawny  the  Scot"  (also  posthumous),  in  1691. 

Leonard  wrote  and  adapted  several  plays,  of  which  it  is 
necessary  to  notice  only  one,  "The  Counterfeite,"  because 
Colley  Cibber  borrowed  from  it  for  his  comedy  "She 
Would  and  She  Would  Not." 


244 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


Second  only  to  Otwaj  among  the  dramatists  of  the  age 
was  Nathaniel  Lee,  who,  with  much  bombastic  extrava- 
gance and  rant  of  passion,  contrives  at  times  to  touch  the 
tenderest  chords  of  the  feelings,  and  elicit  a  strain  of 
genuine  pathos  and  noble  love.  The  following  passage  is 
a  specimen  of  his  better  style  : — 

"  I  disdain 
All  pomp  when  thou  art  by  :  far  be  the  noise 
Of  kings  and  courts  from  us,  whose  gentle  souls 
Our  kinder  stars  have  steered  another  way. 
Free  as  the  forest  birds  we'll  pair  together, 
Fly  to  the  arbours,  grots,  and  flowery  meads, 
And,  in  soft  murmurs,  interchange  our  souls  : 
Together  drink  the  crystal  of  the  stream, 
Or  taste  the  yellow  fruit  which  Autumn  yields  ; 
And  when  the  golden  evening  calls  us  home, 
Wing  to  our  downy  nest,  and  sleep  till  mom." 

There  is  enough  merit  in  Lee's  dramatic  productions^ 
notwithstanding  their  fustian  and  occasional  incoherence, 
to  justify  the  kindly  criticism  in  Eochester's  "  Trial  of  the 
Poets  ":— 

"  Nat  Lee  stepped  in  next,  in  hopes  of  a  prize, 
Apollo  rememb'ring  he  had  cut  once  in  thrice. 
By  the  rubies  in's  face  he  could  not  deny 
But  he  had  as  much  wit  as  wine  would  supply  ; 
Confessed  that  indeed  he  had  a  musical  note, 
But  sometimes  strained  so  hard  that  it  rattled  in  the  throat ; 
Yet  owo'd  he  had  sense,  and  t'  encourage  him  for't 
He  made  him  his  Ovid  in  Augustus's  court." 

Nathaniel  Lee  was  the  son  of  Dr.  Richard  Lee,  of  Hat- 
field, in  Herts,  and  was  born  about  1657.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Westminster,  and  afterwards  at  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  where,  in  1668,  he  took  his  degree  of  B.A. 
Four  years  later  he  came  up  to  London,  relying,  it  is  said, 
upon  the  Duke  of  Buckingham's  promises,  and  failed  as  an 
actor,  owing  to  nervousness.  It  is  on  record  that  he 
played  Duncan  in  *^  Macbeth."    He  next  took  to  writing 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


245 


II 


for  the  stage,  and  from  1675  to  1684  produced  a  play 
annually.  Over-work,  excitement,  and  intemperance 
brought  on  an  attack  of  insanity,  and  he  was  confined  in 
Bethlehem  Hospital  until  1688.  He  resumed  his  labours 
as  a  dramatist,  though  subject  to  fits  of  partial  derange- 
ment; fell  into  extreme  poverty,  and  was  saved  from 
starvation  only  by  a  weekly  pittance  of  ten  shillings 
allowed  to  him  by  one  of  the  theatres.  He  died  in  1691, 
falling  down,  one  winter  night,  in  the  snow,  when  drunk, 
and  perishing  of  the  cold  before  discovered. 

That  he  could  answer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly  we 
learn  from  a  well-known  anecdote.  A  fine  gentleman  who 
saw  him  during  his  confinement  in  Bedlam,  observed: 
"It  is  an  easy  thing  to  write  like  a  madman."  "No," 
answered  Lee,  "it  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  write  like  a 
madman ;  but  it  is  very  easy  to  write  like  a  fool." 

Mrs.  Siddons  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  dramatic 
power  of  "  poor  Nat  Lee."  She  read  his  best  tragedy, 
"  Theodosius  ;  or.  The  Force  of  Love,"  with  such  pathos 
that  her  hearers  could  not  repress  their  tears.  His  great 
defect,  his  extravagance  of  imagery  and  diction,  is  hinted 
at  in  Dryden's  complimentary  lines  on  his  "Eival  Queens; 
or,  the  Death  of  Alexander  the  Great"— in  which  Mrs. 
Barry  and  Mrs.  Boutell  had  their  famous  quarrel— when 
he  encourages  him  to  despise  those  critics  who  condemn 

"  The  too  much  vigour  of  his  youthful  excuse." 

And  that  he  was  not  unaware  of  his  weakness  is  evident 
from  his  dedication  of  "Theodosius,"  where  he  says: 
"  It  has  often  been  observed  against  me  that  I  abound  in 
ungoverned  fancy  ;  but  I  hope  the  world  will  pardon  the 
sallies  of  youth  :  age,  despondency,  and  dulness  come  too 
fast  of  themselves.    I  discommend  no  man  for  keeping 


246 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


247 


tlie  beaten  road ;  but  I  am  sure  the  noble  liunters  that 
follow  the  game  must  leap  hedges  and  ditches  sometimes, 
and  run  at  all,  or  never  come  into  the  full  of  a  quarry." 
Addison  censures  Lee  for  a  mock  sublimity,  but  as  he 
includes  Shakespeare  in  the  censure,  it  loses  much  of  its 
effect,—"  in  those  authors,"  says  the  condescending  critic, 
"  the  affectation  of  greatness  often  hurts  the  perspicuity 
of  style."  His  plays  were  very  popular  with  the  audiences 
of  his  time,  and  the  turgidity  of  their  language  and  senti- 
ment w^as  forgotten  in  the  interest  of  their  situations. 
They  possess,  as  Campbell  remarks,  a  much  more  frequent 
capability  for  stage  effect  than  a  mere  reader  would  be  apt 
to  infer  from  the  superabundance  of  the  poet's  extra- 
vagance. 

His  best  plays  are  "  Nero,"  1G75  ;  "The  Rival  Queens," 
1677;  "Theodosius;  or.  The  Force  of  Love,"  1680; 
"  Mithridates ;  "  ^^The  Princess  of  Cleeves,"  1680  ;  "The 
Massacre  of  Paris,"  16D0;  and  ^^  Lucius  Junius  Brutus." 
He  assisted  Dryden  in  the  composition  of  "  (Edipus," 
1679,  and  "  The  Duke  of  Guise,"  1683. 

Maidwell,  a  schoolmaster,  produced  the  comedy  of 
"The  Loving  Enemies,"  which  he  made  "designedly 
dull,"  he  says,  "  lest  by  satirising  folly  the  author  might 
bring  upon  his  skull  the  bludgeon  of  fools." 

Matthew  Medbourne,  the  actor,  in  1670,  put  upon  the 
stage  a  close  translation  of  Moliere's  inimitable  "  Tar- 
tuffe,"  ^  which  was  acted  with  much  success,  and  thus  led 
the  way  for  Gibber's  '^  Nonjuror,"  1717,  and  Bickerstaffe's 
"Hypocrite,"  1768.  He  was  a  Eoman  Catholic,  and  his 
religious  zeal  afforded  Titus  Gates  an  excuse  for  implicat- 
ing him  in  the  "  Popish  Plot." 

*  A  translation  in  verse,  by  John  Oxenford,  was  brought  out  at  the  Ilay- 
market  in  1851. 


Il 


'Wf 


Among   the  playwrights  of    the  period   must   not  be 
foro'otten  the  eccentric  Huguenot  refugee,  Pierre  Antoine 
Motteux,  whom   the  revocation  of   the  edict  of  Nantes 
drove  to  England   in   IGGO.     He   established   himself  in 
London,    and  by    his    industry    and    talent,    throve    so 
vigorously  that  he   became  the    owner  of  a  large   East 
India  warehouse  in  Leadenhall  Street,  while  throu4-h  his 
knowledge   of  foreign  languages  he  was   employed  as  a 
clerk   in    the    foreign    department    of  the    Post    Gfiice. 
According  to  Sir  Water  Scott,  he  added  to  these  voca- 
tions the  trade  of  a  bookseller,  and  also  found  leisure  to 
play  the   part  of  a   fast   man   about  town,  to   edit  "  The 
Gentleman's  Journal,"    to    wander   into    feeble  poetical 
efforts,  and  to  compose  some  seventeen  comedies,  farces, 
and  musical  interludes  which  had  their  little  day.     One 
of  these,  called  "  Novelty,"  was   novel  at  least  in   con- 
struction, since   in  each  of  its   five  acts  it  presented  an 
independent   plot.     In  the  same  mood  of  eccentricity  he 
projected  an  opera,  "  The  Loves  of  Europe,"  which  was 
to  exhibit  the  different  methods  of  love-making  pursued 
by  the  various  European  nations.     To  his  one  tragedy, 
"  Beauty  in  Distress,"  *  Dryden  makes  a  complimentary 
reference  in  his  '^Twelfth  Epistle  "  (169S)  :— 

"  The  public  voice 
Has  equalled  thy  performance  with  thy  choice. 
Time,  action,  place,  are  so  preserved  by  thee. 
That  e'en  Coracille  might  with  envy  see 
The  alliance  of  his  Tripled  Unity. 
Thy  incidents,  perhaps,  too  thick  are  sown; 
But  too  much  plenty  is  thy  fault  alone. 
At  least  but  two  can  that  good  crime  commit, 
Thou  in  design,  and  Wycherly  in  wit." 

This  modified  praise  might  pass,  but  the  poet   soon 

*  It  was  played  by  Betterton's  company  in  the  Theatre  in  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields. 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH 


permits  Ms  friendly  ^ood-nature  to  blunt  his  critical  per- 
ceptions. He  continues  in  a  strain  of  absurd  exaggera- 
tion  : — 

"  Let  thy  own  Gauls  condemn  thee,  if  they  dare.  .  .  . 
Their  tongue  enfeebled,  is  refined  too  much  ; 
And,  like  pure  gold,  it  bends  at  every  touch  : 
Our  sturdy  Teuton  yet  will  art  obey, 
More  fit  for  manly  thought,  and  strengthened  with  allay. 
But  whence  art  thou  inspired,  and  thou  alone, 
To  flourish  in  an  idiom  not  thy  own  ? 
It  moves  our  wonder,  that  a  foreign  guest 
Should  overmatch  the  most  and  match  the  best. 
In  under-praising  thy  deserts,  I  wrong  ; 
Here  find  the  first  deficience  of  our  tongue : 
Words,  once  my  stock,  are  wanting,  to  commend 
So  great  a  poet,  and  so  good  a  friend." 

The  best  work  done  by  Motteux  was  his  translations  of 
Rabelais  and  of  "  Don  Quixote,"  of  both  of  which  good  use 
has  been  made  by  later  adaptors. 

He  died  under  discreditable  circumstances,  in  1718. 

William  Cavendish,  Duke  of  Newcastle — best  remem- 
bered, perhaps,  by  the  romantic  biography  in  which  his 
Duchess  has  celebrated  his  virtues  and  achievements  and 
her  own  affection  and  vanity—was  born  in  1592.     At  an 
early  age  he  attracted  the  attention  of  James  VI.  by  his 
accomplishments  and  undoubted  talents,  and  in  1620  was 
made  Baron  Ogle   and  Viscount  Mansfield.     Charles  I. 
raised  him  to  the  higher  dignity  of  Earl  of  Newcastle, 
and  placed  in  his  charge  the  Prince  of  Wales.     At  the 
outbreak  of  the  Civil  War  the  Earl  showed  his  gratitude 
to  the  royal  house  to  which  he  owed  his  advancement  by 
pouring  £10,000  into  the  King's  treasury,  and  raising,  at 
his  own  charge,  a  troop  of  200  men,  known,  from  their 
uniform,     as     his    "  Whitecoats.''      In    1642    Charles 
appointed    him    to    the    command    of  all    the    royalist 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


249 


forces  in  the  northern  and  midland  coimties,  and  the 
Earl  justified  the  appointment  by  a  vigorous  exhibition  of 
military  capacity.  He  swept  the  Parliamentary  army  out 
of  Yorkshire,  and  crossed  the  Humber,  after  inflicting  a 
severe  defeat  upon  Fairfax  at  Atherton  Moor,  near  Brad- 
ford (June  30th,  1643).  He  recovered  the  towns  of 
Gainsborough,  Lincoln,  and  Beverley,  but  failed  in  an 
attack  upon  Hull.  Eaised  to  the  rank  of  Marquis  for 
those  achievements,  he  marched  northward  to  oppose  the 
advance  of  the  Scots,  but  was  ultimately  compelled  to 
throw  himself  into  York,  where  he  withstood  a  three 
months'  siege,  until  relieved  by  the  arrival  of  Prince 
Eupert.  As  is  well  known,  he  counselled  the  Prince  not 
to  attack  the  R  oundheads,  but  to  retire  southward.  The 
Prince,  however,  insisted  on  fighting,  and  was  crushed  by 
Cromwell  and  Fairfax  at  Marsten  Moor  on  the  2nd  of 
July,  1644.  Concluding  that  no  battle  would  be  fought 
that  day — for  it  was  evening  when  the  two  armies  came 
into  conflict — the  Marquis  had  retired  to  his  couch,  and 
was  reposing  peacefully,  when  "  a  great  noise  and  thunder 
of  shooting  gave  him  notice  of  the  armies  being  en- 
gaged. Whereupon  he  immediately  put  on  his  arms,  and 
was  no  sooner  got  on  horseback  but  he  beheld  a  dismal 
sight ;  the  King's  right  wing  being  irretrievably  broken '' 
by  the  charge  of  CromwelFs  Ironsides.  With  due 
speed  he  hastened  to  see  "in  what  posture  his  own 
regiment  of  Whitecoats  was."  On  the  way  he  met  his 
old  troop  of  gentlemen  volunteers.  "  Gentlemen,^'  he 
said,  "  you  have  done  me  the  honour  to  choose  me  your 
Captain,  and  now  is  the  fittest  time  that  I  may  do  you 
service  ;  wherefore,  if  you'll  follow  me,  I  shall  lead  you  on 
the  best  I  can,  and  show  you  the  way  to  your  own  honour." 


250 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


But  lie  could  not  stem  tlie  tide  of  battle  wliich  liad  turned 
against  the  Eojalists,  tliong-li  in  the  final  charge  it  was 
Ms  regiment  which  offered  the  stoutest  resistance.  Again 
and  again  the  Rouii<lh';i Is  rushed  upon  their  "planted 
pikes  ;  "  thej  stood  firm  a  rock  until  some  regiments 
of  dragoons  took  them  in  flank,  and  their  own  guns  being 
turned  upon  them  by  CromweH's  artillerymen,  a  gap  was 
opened  in  their  stern  arr;iy.  Only  thirty  were  made 
prisoners;  the  rest  refused  quarter^  each  man  falling  in 
his  place. 

Newcastle  was  one  of  the  last  to  quit  the  lost  field. 
Late  at  night,  he  escaped  towards  York,  with  his  brother 
and  one  or  two  servants;  and  close  to  the  city  fell  in  with 
General  King  and  Prince  Eui>ort,  the  latter  of  whom  had 
saved  himself  with  mucli  dithculty.  Rupert  asked  how 
the  business  went  ?  '*  All  is  lost  and  gone  upon  our 
side,"  said  the  Marquis.  '^I  am  sure  my  men  fought 
well,"  rejoined  the  Prince,  *^aiid  know  no  reason  of  our 
rout  but  this,  because  the  devil  did  help  his  servants  !  " 
"What  will  you  do  ?"  said  General  King.     "  I  will  rally 


my  men 


"         iC 


And  wliat  will  Lord  Newcastle  do  ?  "     Dis- 


gusted at  the  turn  of  affairs,  ;nid  at  the  obstinacy  which 
had  led  to  so  fatal  a  defeat,  the  Marquis  answered  that  he 
would  go  into  Holland.  Accordingly, he  crossed  the  seas, 
and  remained  abroad  until  the  Restoration.  His  ffreat 
estates  having  been  confiscated  by  the  Parliament,  he  and 
his  wife  (to  whom  he  had  been  married  at  Paris  in  1G45) 
were  reduced  to  extreme  poverty,  and  at  one  time  forced 
to  pawn  their  clothes  and  jewels  to  keep  the  wolf  from 
the  door.  At  the  Restoration  he  recovered  his  estates, 
was  made  a  Duke  in  16G1,  and  lived  in  that  sustained 
magnificence  which  the  Cavendishes  have  always  affected. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


251 


He  died  in  1676 — three  years  after  his  ^^high-souled 
Duchess"  and  a  stately  monument  in  Westminster  Abbey 
preserves  the  memory  of  a  noble  couple,  whose  loyalty 
and  pure  affection  and  high  culture  are  refreshing  to 
contemplate  among  the  vices  and  meannesses  of  the 
Caroline  period. 

The  Duke  wrote,  in  1657,  a  treatise  on  Horsemanship, 
"Le  Methode  et  Invention  Nouvelle  de  dresser  les 
Chevaux/^  of  which  an  English  translation  was  pub- 
lished in  1667.  He  gains  a  place  in  our  record,  however, 
through  his  comedies,  "  The  Country  Captain/'  "  Variety," 
"  The  Humorous  Lovers/'  and  "  The  Triumphant  Widow  ; 
or.  The  Medley  of  Humours."  Pepys  speaks  contemptu- 
ously of  "  The  Humorous  Lovers" — he  ascribes  it  to  the 
Duchess,  whom  he  seems  to  have  strongly  disliked — as 
'*  a  silly  play  ;  the  most  silly  thing  that  ever  came  ui)on  a 
stage.-"  But  in  all  these  comedies  there  are  sketches  of 
characters  and  amusing  incidents  which  would  make  the 
fortune  of  a  modern  dramatist.  The  Duke  was  ignorant 
of  stage-craft,  but  he  had  seen  much  of  men  and  manners, 
and  had  evidently  a  fine  faculty  of  observation. 

A  famous  character  of  the  chivalrous  Duke  has  been 
written  by  Lord  Clarendon.  We  have  already  referred  to 
the  life  written  by  the  Duchess  (1667)— a  book  which  held 
a  high  place  among  Charles  Lamb's  favourites.  Horace 
Walpole  says  of  it : — "  It  is  equally  amusing  to  hear  her 
sometimes  compare  her  lord  to  Julius  Caesar,  and  oftener 
to  acquaint  you  with  such  anecdotes  as  in  what  sort  of  a 
coach  he  went  to  Amsterdam.  The  touches  on  her  own 
character  are  inimitable.  She  says  that  it  pleased  God 
to  command  his  servant  Nature  to  endue  her  with  a 
poetical  and  philosophical  genius,  even  from  her  birth.''^ 


252 


THE   MERRY  MONARCH; 


She   wrote    numerous    plays,   poems,   and   miscellaneous 
compositions. 

At  Trotton,  near  Midhurst,  where  his  father,  the  Eev. 
Humphrey  Otway  (afterwards  rector  of  Woolbeding),  was 
curate,  Thomas  Otway,  one  of  the  greatest  of  English  dra- 
matists of  the  second  class,  was  bom  on  the  3rd  of  March, 
1651.     He   was  educated  at  Winchester  School,  and  at 
Christ  Church,  Oxford  ;   but  left  the  University  without 
taking  a  degree,  made  his  way  to  London,  and  tried  his 
fortune  on  the  stage  in  the  same  year  as  Nat  Lee  (1672). 
Through  lack  of  confidence,  he  failed  in  his  first  part,  the 
King  in  Mrs.  Behn's   "  Jealous  Bridegroom,'^   and  then 
tried  his  hand  at  dramatic  writing.      His  first  tragedy 
"  Alcibiades,"  was  produced  in  1675;   and  in  the  same 
year  appeared  his  "  Don  Carlos,"   which  ran  for  thirty 
nights,  and  filled  for  awhile  the  author's  empty  pockets. 
The  plot  was  derived  (as  is  that  of   Schiller's  tragedy) 
from   the  Abbe   de  St.   Eeal's    "Dom   Carlos,   Nouvelle 
Historique,"  published  in  1672.     From  Eacine's  "  Bere- 
nice ^'   he  adapted,  with  considerable  modifications,  his 
tragedy  of  "  Titus  and  Berenice,'^'  and,  about  the   same 
time,  published  a  clever  version  of  Molifere's  comedy, "  The 
Cheats  of  Scapin."    This  was  in  1667  ;  and,  in  the  same 
year  Lord  Plymouth  procured  for  him    a  cornetcy  in  a 
regiment  of  dragoons,  which  he  accompanied  to  Flanders. 
He  was  soon  cashiered  for  his  irregularities,  and,  return- 
ing to  London,  resumed  the  precarious  profession  of  a 
dramatic    author.      His     comedy     of     "  Friendship     in 
Fashion,"    wholly  unworthy  of  his   genius,  was  followed 
by  his  tragedy  of  "  Caius  Marius,"  in  which  he  amalga- 
mated a  good  deal  of  Shakespeare's  "  Romeo  and  Juliet," 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


255 


adapting  it  to  the  "polite  taste"  of  the  French  school. 
Juliet  becomes  Lavinia ;  Mercutio,  Salpitius  ;  and  Romeo, 
Marius  Junior.  It  is  strange  enough  that  the  perpetrator 
of  this  wretched  literary  fraud  should  have  produced,  in  the 
same  year,  the  really  beautiful  tragedy  of  "  The  Orphan," 
which  is  full  of  tender  and  pathetic  writing,  though 
unfortunately  its  plot,  and  sometimes  its  language,  unfits 
it  for  presentation  before  a  modern  audience."^  Moniraia, 
however,  is  a  character  in  which  a  great  actress  can 
always  command  the  feelings  of  her  audience.  There  is 
an  admirable  touch  of  pathos  in  her  dying  words  :  "  How 
my  head  swims  !     'Tis  very  dark  ;  good-night." 

Otway  reaches  the  high- water  mark  of  his  genius  in 
his  celebrated  tragedy  of  "Venice  Preserved  "f  (1682),  the 
suggestion  of  which  came  from  St.  Real's  "  Historic  de  la 
Conjuration  que  les  Espagnols  formerentin  1618,  contre  la 
Republique  de  Yenise,"  published  in  1674.  It  contains 
three  characters,  Belvidera,  Jaffier,  and  St.  Pierre,  which 
are  distinct  creations.  The  plot,  one  of  deep  and  harrow- 
ing interest,  is  skilfully  developed,  and  the  final  catas- 
trophe admirably  worked  out ;  the  versification  is  fluent, 
forcible,  and  sometimes  coloured  with  true  poetry ;  while 
the  stronger  passions  of  the  heart  are  portrayed  by  a 
powerful  hand.  Belvidera  is  a  beautiful  type  of  self- 
sacrificing  womanhood  ;  "  she  has  given  herself  wholly, 
and  is  lost  as  in  an  abyss  of  adoration  for  him  whom  she 
has  chosen — can  but  love,  obey,  weep,  suffer — and  who 
dies  like  a  flower  plucked  from  the  stalk,  when  her  arms 


*  Johnson  speaks  of  it  as,  in  his  time,  "  one  of  the  few  plays  that  keep 
possession  of  the  stage.  It  is  a  domestic  tragedy,  drawn  from  middle  life. 
Its  whole  power  is  upon  the  affections." 

f  Closely  imitated  by  La  Fosse  in  his  '*  Manlius.** 


254 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


are  torn  from  tlie  neck  around  wliicli  she  lias  locked  tliem." 
Is  there  not  exquisite  tenderness  in  the  following 
passage  ?  : — 

"  Bdvidera. — My  lord,  my  love,  my  rcfuixe  ! 

Hapiiy  my  eyes  when  tlifv  Ix'Uold  thy  face  I 
My  heiivy  heart  will  cviisc  its  doL'tu]  beating 
At  siit,dit  of  thee,  and  bound  with  sfirightly  joys. 
Oh,  smile  as  when  our  l()v<>  were  in  their  spring, 

And  cheer  my  fainting  >ou] ! 
Jqffier.—As  wiien  our  loves 

Were  in  tlieir  spring  1     Has,  then,  my  fortune  changed  thee  ? 

Art  thou  not,  I'elvidera,  still  the  same, 

Kind,  good,  and  teiidt-r,  as  my  arms  iirst found  thee? 

If  thou  art  altered,  wliero  shall  I  have  harbour? 

Where  ease  my  loaded  heart  /     Oh.  where  complain? 
Uel, — Does  this  a{){)ear  likeehange,  or  love  decaying, 

When  thus  I  throw  inyselt  into  thy  bosom, 

With  all  the  resolution  of  strong  truth  ? 

I  joy  more  in  thee 

Than  did  tliy  motlier,  when  she  hugged  thee  first, 

And  blessed  the  god  ill  her  travail  past. 

J^aff. — Can  there  iu  women  In-  -uch  glorious  faith? 

Sure,  all  ill  stories  of  thy  sex  are  false  ! 

Oh,  woman  !  lovely  w(»iiian  !  Nature  made  thee 

To  temper  man  :  we  had  hftii  hnites  without  you  ! 

Angels  are  painted  fair,  to  look  like  you  : 

Tliere's  in  you  all  that  we  believe  of  heaven  ; 

Amazing  briglitness,  purity,  and  truth. 

Eternal  joy  and  everlasting  love! 
Bel, — If  love  be  treasure,  we'll  he  wondrous  rich. 

Oh,  lead  me  to  some  desert,  wide  and  wild, 

Barren  as  our  misfortunes,  w  here  my  soul 

May  have  its  vent,  where  I  may  tell  aloud 

To  the  high  heavens,  and  every  list'ning  planet, 

With  what  a  boundless  stock  my  bosom's  fraught! 
Jaff. — 0  Belvidera  I  doubly  I'm  a  beggar: 

Undone  by  fortune,  and  in  debt  to  thee. 

Want,  worldly  want,  that  hungry  meagre  fiend, 

Is  at  my  heels,  and  chases  me  in  view. 

Canst  thou  bear  cold  and  hun-er  .'     Can  those  limbs, 

Framed  for  the  tender  ollices  of  love, 

Endure  the  bitter  gripes  of  stnarting  poverty? 

When  banislied  by  our  mis'ii'-s  abroad  — 

As  suddenly  we  shall  be— to  ^cek  out 

In  some  far  climate,  where  our  names  are  strangers, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  255 

For  charitable  succour,  wilt  thou  then, 

When  in  a  bed  of  straw  we  shrink  together, 

An»i  the  bleak  winds  shall  whistle  round  our  heads  ; 

Wilt  thou  then  talk  thus  to  me  ?     Wilt  thou  then 

Hush  my  cares  thus,  and  shelter  me  with  love? 
2?e/. — Oh  1  I  will  love,  even  in  madness  love  thee  ! 

Tliough  my  distracted  senses  should  forsake  me, 

I'd  find  some  intervals  when  my  poor  heart 

Should  'suage  itself ,  and  be  let  loose  to  thine. 

Though  the  bare  earth  be  all  our  resting-place, 

Its  roots  our  food,  some  cliff  our  habitation, 

I'll  make  this  arm  a  pillow  for  thine  head  ; 

And  as  thou  sighing  liest,  and  swelled  with  sorrow. 

Creep  to  thy  bosom,  pour  the  balm  of  love 

Into  thy  soul,  and  kiss  thee  to  thy  rest ; 

Then  praise  our  God,  and  watch  thee  till  the  morning. 
jaff". — Hear  this,  you  heavens,  and  wonder  how  you  made  her ! 

lieign,  reign,  ye  monarchs,  that  divide  the  world  ; 

Busy  rebellion  ne'er  will  let  you  know 

Tranquillity  and  happiness  like  mine  ; 

Like  gaudy  ships,  the  obsequious  billows  fall 

And  rise  again,  to  lift  you  in  your  pride  ; 

They  wait  but  for  a  storm,  and  then  devour  you  1 

1,  in  my  private  bark  already  wrecked, 

Like  a  poor  merchant,  driven  to  unknown  land, 

That  had,  by  chance,  packed  up  his  choicest  treasure 

In  one  dear  casket,  and  saved  only  tliat : 

Since  I  must  wander  further  on  the  shore, 

Thus  hug  my  little,  but  my  precious  store, 

Kesolved  to  roam  and  trust  my  fate  no  more." 

It  is  certain  that  writing  like  this,  so  smooth  and  tender, 
the  English  stage  was  not  to  know  again  for  nearly  two 
centuries. 

A  life  withered  by  alternations  of  excess  and  want  Otway 
closed  tragically,  at  the  early  age  of  34,  on  the  14th  of 
April,  1685.  To  escape  a  debtor's  prison  he  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  Bull,  a  public-house  on  Tower  Hill^  where, 
in  the  stress  of  his  hunger,  he  was  fain  (it  is  said)  to 
solicit  a  shilling  from  a  gentleman,  who  gave  him  a 
guinea;  and  buying  bread,  he  choked  himself,  in  his 
eagerness,  with  the  first  mouthful.     According  to  another 


256 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


account,  lie  died  of  fever,  caused  by  fatigue,  and  by  bis 
drinking  water  wben  over-beated,  Wbatever  tbe  manner 
of  bis  deatb,  it  is  certain  tbat  be  died  destitute  and  friend- 
less. 

Otway,  as  we  bave  said,  is  seen  at  bis  best  in  "  Tbe 
Orpban  "  and  *'  Venice  Preserved."*  It  was  in  tbese  two 
plays  only  tbat  be  did  justice  to  bis  indubitable  dramatic 
power.  In  bis  otber  efforts  be  sbowed  bimself  a  man  of 
bis  time ;  tbe  picture  is  blurred  by  coarseness  of  colour- 
ing ;  tbe  Satyr's  boof  peeps  out  beneatb  tbe  Muse's  robe. 
"  Like  tbe  rest,  be  writes  obscene  comedies,  '  Tbe  Soldier's 
Fortune,'  *  Tbe  Atbeist,'  '  Friendsbip  in  Fasbion.'  He 
depicts  coarse  and  vicious  cavaliers,  rogues  on  prin- 
ciple, as  barsb  and  corrupt  as  tbose  of  Wycberley, — Beau- 
gard,  wbo  vaunts  and  practices  tbe  maxims  of  Hobbs  ;  tbe 
fatber,  an  old,  corrupt  rascal,  wbo  brags  of  bis  morality, 
and  wbom  bis  son  coldly  sends  to  tbe  dogs  witli  a  bag  of 
crowns  ;  Sir  Jolly  Jumble,  a  kind  of  base  Falstaff,  a  pander 
by  profession,  wbom  tbe  courtesans  call  '  papa,  daddy,' 
wbo,  if  be  sits  but  at  tbe  table  witb  one,  be'll  be  making 
nasty  figures  in  tbe  napkins:^'  Sir  Davy  Dunce,  a  dis- 
gusting animal,  "  wbo  bas  sucb  a  breatb,  one  kiss  of  bim 
were  enougb  to  cure  tbe  fits  of  tbe  motber  ;  ^tis  worse  tban 
assafoetida.  Clean  linen,  be  says,  is  unwbolesorae  .... 
be  is  continually  eating  of  garlic,  and  cbewing  tobacco ; 
Polydore,  wbo,  enamoured  of  bis  fatber's  ward,  tries  to 
force  ber  in  tbe  first  scene,  envies  tbe  brutes,  and  makes 
up  bis  mind  to  imitate  tbem  on  tbe  next  occasion."t  A 
great  Englisb  writer  made  it  bis  boast  and  consolation 

*  We  must  note  that  Antonio  in  '*  Venice  Preserved,"  is  intended  for  the 
celebrated  Earl  of  Shaftesbury,  whose  latter  years  were  spent  in  the  coarsest 
sensuality. 

t  Taine,  "  Hist.  Eng.  Literature,"  iii.,  41, 42. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


257 


tbat  be  bad  not  written  a  line  wbicb,  on  bis  deatb-bed,  be 
would  wisb  to  blot.  Alas,  poor  Otway !  Tbere  are  pages 
upon  pages  on  wbicb,  wben  dying,  be  must  bave  longed 
to  pour  a  flood  of  concealing  ink  !  ^ 

Samuel  Pordage  was  tbe  son  of  a  Berksbire  clergyman, 
wbo  lost  bis  living  in  1654  on  suspicion  of  conversing  witb 
evil  spirits.  He  bred  bis  son  up  to  tbe  law,  and  tbe  young 
lawyer  publisbed,  in  1660,  a  volume  of  poems,  and  an 
annotated  translation  of  Seneca's  '*Troades."  He  was 
also  tbe  autbor  of  two  dull  tragedies,  "  Herod  and  Mari- 
amne,"  1673,  and  ''  Tbe  Siege  of  Babylon,"  1678  ;  and  of 
a  reply  to  Dryden's  "Absolom  and  Acbitopbel,"  wbicb 
be  entitled  "  Azaria  and  Eusbai."  In  tbis  be  represents 
Monmoutb  as  Azaria,  Cromwell  as  Zabad,  Cbarles 
as  Amazia,  Sbaftesbury  as  Husbai,  and  Dryden  as 
Sbimei : — 

"  Sweet  was  the  muse  that  did  his  wit  inspire, 
Had  he  not  let  his  hackney  muse  to  hire." 


•  Hallam  says  of  Otway's  two  famous  plays  that  they  will  generally  be 
reckoned  the  best  tragedies  of  this  period  [the  Restoration].  "  They  have 
both  a  deep  pathos,  springing  from  the  intense  and  unmerited  distress  of 
women  ;  both,  especially  the  latter,  have  a  dramatic  eloquence,  rapid  and 
flowing,  with  less  of  turgid  extravagance  than  we  find  in  Otway's  contem- 
poraries, and  sometimes  with  very  graceful  poetry.  The  story  of  the  Orphan 
is  domestic,  and  borrowed,  as  I  believe,  from  some  French  novel,  though  I 
do  not  at  present  remember  where  I  have  read  it ;  it  was  once  popular  on  the 
Btage,  and  gave  scope  for  good  acting,  but  is  unpleasing  to  the  delicacy  of  our 
own  age.  Venice  Preserved  is  [was]  more  frequently  represented  than  any 
tragedy  after  those  of  Shakespeare ;  the  plot  is  highly  dramatic  in  con- 
ception and  conduct ;  even  what  seems,  when  we  read  it,  a  defect,  the  shift- 
ing of  our  wishes,  or  perhaps  rather  of  our  ill-wishes,  between  two  parties, 
the  senate  and  the  conspirators,  who  are  redeemed  by  no  virtue,  does  not,  as 
is  shown  by  experience,  interfere  with  the  spectator's  interest.  Pierre 
indeed  is  one  of  those  villains  for  whom  it  is  easy  to  excite  the  sympathy  of 
the  half -principled  and  the  inconsiderate.  But  the  great  attraction  is  in  the 
character  of  Belvidere;  and  when  that  part  is  represented  by  such  as  we 
remember  to  have  seen,  no  tragedy  is  honoured  by  such  a  tribute,  not  of 
tears  alone,  but  of  more  agony  than  many  would  seek  to  endure.  The  ver- 
Bification  of  Otway,  like  that  of  most  in  this  period,  runs  almost  to  an  excess 
into  the  line  of  eleven  syllables,  sometimes  also  into  the  sdrucciolo  form, 
or  twelve  syllables  with  a  dactylic  close."— *' History  of  Literature  of 
Europe,"  iv.,  i^85,  286. 


VOL.    I. 


S 


258 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


Pordage,  as  land-steward  to  tlie  Earl  of  Pembroke,  found 
his  true  vocation. 

To  an  obscure  dramatist,  named  Nevil  Payne,  we  owe 
tbree  plays  which,  in  their  time,  enjoyed  a  moderate 
degree  of  popularity : — ''  Fatal  Jealousy,"  in  which  Nokes 
gained  bis  sohriqnet  of  "  Nurse  Nokes ; "  "  The  Morning 
Eamble,^'  produced  in  1673;  and  "The  Siege  of  Constan- 
tinople,^^ a  tragedy,  whicb  was  made  the  vehicle  of  a 
severe  attack  upon  Lord  Shaftesbury. 

Major  Thomas  Porter,  one  of  the  roystering  men  about 
town,  showed  some  dramatic  talent  in  his  play,  "The 
Villain,"— in  whicb  Sandford,  as  famous  in  his  day  for 
playing  villains  as  the  redoubtable  0.  S.  Smith  in  the 
palmy  time  of  Adelphi  melodrama,  earned  great  applause, 
—and  in  bis  lively  comedy  of  "  The  Carnival."  He 
figured  in  a  tragedy  of  real  life,  thus  described  by  Pepys  : 
— July  29,  1667.  He  and  his  great  friend,  Sir  Henry 
Bellassis,  were  talking  together  .  .  .  "and  Sir  H.  Bel- 
lassis  talked  a  little  louder  than  ordinary  to  Tom  Porter, 
giving  of  bim  some  advice.  Some  of  the  company  stand- 
ing by  said,  '  What !  are  they  quan-elling,  that  they  talk 
so  bigb  ?  '  Sir  H.  Bellassis,  hearing  it,  said,  '  No  !  ^  says 
he  :  ^  I  would  have  you  know  I  never  quarrel,  but  I  strike : 
and  take  that  as  a  rule  of  mine ! '  '  How  ? '  says  Tom 
Porter,  '  strike  !  I  would  I  could  see  the  man  in  England 
tbat  durst  give  me  a  blow  ! '  with  that  Sir  H.  Bellassis  did 
give  him  a  box  of  the  ears ;  and  so  they  were  going  to 
figbt  there,  but  were  hindered."  .  .  .  Dryden's  boy  was 
then  employed  to  find  out  in  what  direction  Bellassis 
went,  and  the  infuriate  Major  overtook  him  in  Covent 
Garden.  .  .  "  Tom  Porter,  being  informed  that  Sir  H. 
Bellassis'  coach  was  coming,  went  down  out  of  the  coffee- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


259 


bouse  where  he  staid  for  the  tidings,  and  stopped  tbe 
coach,  and  bade  Sir  H.  Bellassis  come  out.  '  Why,'  says 
H.  Bellassis,  '  you  will  not  hurt  me  coming  out,  will  you  ? ' 
*  No,'  says  Tom  Porter.  So  out  he  went,  and  botb  drew." 
Tom  Porter  soon  passed  his  sword  through  the  body  of  tbe 
knight,  who,  feeling  that  tbe  wound  was  mortal,  called 
the  Major  to  him,  kissed  bim,  and  witb  chivalrous  resolu- 
tion, kept  his  feet — that  he  might  effect  his  escape  un- 
molested. As  soon  as  he  saw  tbat  his  friend  was  safe,  be 
fell  back  in  a  swoon  from  loss  of  blood.  Ten  days  after- 
wards he  died.  The  Major  recovered  from  his  wounds, 
and  the  date  of  bis  death  is  uncertain. 

Thomas  Eawlins,  the  "  engraver  of  the  Mint,"  publisbed 
in  1648,  a  volume  of  poems,  entitled  "Calanthe,"  and 
was  the  author  of  "  Tom  Essence,"  a  comedy,  1677,  and 
of  a  tragedy,  "  Tbe  Eebellion,"  which  its  loyal  senti- 
ments made  temporarily  popular.  He  was  not  a  pro- 
fessional author,  and  was  fond  of  declaring  that  "be 
had  no  desire  to  be  known  by  a  threadbare  coat,  having  a 
calling  tbat  would  maintain  it  worthy  " 

Edward  Eevet  was  tbe  autbor  of  the  comedy  of  "  Tbe 
Town  Sbifts." 

Thomas  Rymer's  name  is  beld  in  good  repute  as  that 
of  tbe  learned  editor  of  the  "  Fsedera,  Conventiones,  et 
Cujuscunque  Generis  Acta  Publica  inter  Reges  Angliae  et 
alios  Principes,"  a  work  of  inestimable  value  to  tbe 
historian.  He  was  born  in  Yorkshire  in  1638 ;  educated 
at  the  Northallerton  Grammar  School,  and  at  Sidney 
Sussex  College,  Cambridge ;  and  became  a  member  of 
Gray's  Inn,  1686.  That  a  man  might  be  a  lawyer  and  an 
antiquary,  and  yet  not  a  successful  dramatist,  he  proved 
by  bis  tragedy  of  "  Edgar ;  or,  The  Englisb  Monarch,'' 


260 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


publislied  (because  no  manager  would  act  it)  in  1678. 
It  is  written  in  rhyme,  and  «  after  the  manner  of  the 
ancients,"  and  Eymer  fondly  hoped  that  it  would  depose 
Shakespeare  from  his  pride  of  place  !  He  ventilated  his 
erroneous  views  of  the  dramatic  art  in  his  critique  on 
"The  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age/'*  1678,  which,  accord- 
ing to  him,  were  defective  in  every  particular.  His  taste 
and  discrimination  as  a  critic  may  be  inferred  from  his 
assertion  that  '*  in  the  neighing  of  a  horse  or  the  growl- 
ing  of  a  mastiff,  there  is  a  meaning ;  there  is  as  lively 
expression,  and,  may  I  say,  more  humanity  than  many 
times  in  the  tragical  frights  of  Shakespeare  I  "  Still  more 
completely  to  write  himself  down  an  ass,  he  adds  : — "  I 
have  thought  our  poetry  of  the  last  age  as  rude  as  our 
architecture;  one  cause  thereof  might  be,  that  Aris- 
totle's treatise  of  poetry  has  been  so  little  studied 
amongst  us."  He  speaks  of  Milton's  "  Paradise  Lost " 
as  that  "  which  some  are  pleased  to  call  a  poem  ! "  Poor 
Eymer  !  It  was  well  for  him  when  he  was  appointed 
historiographer  to  King  William  in  1692,  and  his  talents 
were  directed  into  a  fitting  channel.  With  laudable 
industry  and  fine  scholarship  he  carried  out  Montague 
and  Lord  Somers'  scheme  of  a  collection  of  public  docu- 
ments relating  to  the  foreign  affairs  of  England.  Eymer 
died  on  the  14th  of  December,  1714. 

*'  The  first  boy-poet  of  our  age,"  as  Dry  den  calls  young 
Saunders  in  his  epilogue  to  the  boy-poet's  "Tamerlane 
the  Great/'  never  fulfilled  his  early  promise.  He  pro- 
duced this  tragedy,   and   was   heard   of   no   more— like 

*  "  The  Tragedies  of  the  last  age  considered  and  examined  by  the  Practice 
of  the  Ancients,  and  by  the  Common  Sense  of  All  Ages."  The  plays 
criticised  are  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  RoUo,"  "  King  and  No  King,"  and 
"Maid's  Tragedy." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


261 


the  poet  in  Bailey's  "Festus,''  who,  after  writing  his 
one  great  poem,  "  fell  into  himself,"  and  was  thence- 
forward silent. 

The  character  of  Doeg  in  Dry  den's  great  satire  of 
"Absalom  and  Achitophel  "  is  intended,  as  everybody 
knows,  for  Elkanah  Settle,  a  poet  of  some  note  in  his  day, 
though  now  remembered  only  as  pilloried  by  Dryden  : — 

"  Doeg,  though  without  knowing  how  or  why, 
Made  still  a  blundering  kind  of  melody ; 
Spurred  boldly  on,  and  dashed  through  thick  and  thin, 
Through  sense  and  nonsense,  never  out  or  in ; 
Free  from  all  meaning,  whether  good  or  bad, 
And,  in  one  word,  heroically  mad : 
He  was  too  warm  on  pi  eking- work  to  dwell, 
But  f agotted  his  notions  as  they  fell. 
And  if  they  rhymed  and  rattled,  all  was  well. 
Spiteful  he  is  not,  though  he  wrote  a  satire. 
For  still  there  goes  some  thinking  to  ill-nature : 
He  needs  no  more  than  birds  and  beasts  to  think — 
All  his  occasions  are  to  eat  and  drink.  .  .  . 
Railing  in  other  men  may  be  a  crime 
But  ought  to  pass  for  more  instinct  in  time  ; 
Instinct  he  follows,  and  no  further  knows, 
For  to  write  verse  with  him  is  to  transpose.  .  .  . 
Let  him  rail  on,  let  his  invective  muse 
Have  four-and-twenty  letters  to  abuse, 
Which,  if  he  jumbles  to  one  line  of  sense, 
Indict  him  of  a  capital  offence. 
In  fireworks  give  him  leave  to  vent  his  spite, 
These  are  the  only  serpents  he  can  write ; 
The  height  of  his  ambition  is,  we  know. 
But  to  be  master  of  a  puppet  show ; 
On  that  one  stage  bis  works  may  yet  appear. 
And  a  month's  harvest  keep  him  all  the  year." 

Elkanah  Settle  was  born  at  Dunstable  in  1648,  and 
in  his  eighteenth  year  entered  at  Trinity  College,  Oxford, 
which  he  left,  however,  without  taking  a  degree.  Fired 
with  ambitious  hopes  he  went  to  London,  and  like  many 
other  clever  young  men,  turned  to  his  pen  as  the  weapon 
with  which  prosperity  and  fame  were  to  be  achieved.     In 


262 


THE    MEEEY   MONAECH ; 


OE,    ENGLAND   TJNDEE   CHAELES   II. 


263 


politics  he  took  up  Whig  principles,  and  some  political 
pamphlets  made  his  name  known.      In  1671,  he  produced 
his  first  play,  *'  Cambjses,"  which  Eochester  patronised 
for  the  purpose  of  provoking  Dryden ;  and  the  brilliant 
noble  also  lent  his  powerful  support  to  Settle's  tragedy 
of  *^The  Empress  of  Morocco,"  written,  a  la  Frangaise, 
in  rhymed  couplets.*     His  success  inflamed  his  vanity, 
and  in  the   dedication  to  his  play  he  had  the  audacity 
to  gird  at  Dryden^s  habit  of  introducing  his  dramas  to 
the  public  with  critical  reviews  and  summaries.     '*^My 
Lord,"  he  said,  "whilst  I  trouble  you  with  this  kind  of 
discourse,  I  beg  you  would    not  think  I  design  to  give 
rules  to  the  Press  as  some  of  our  like  have  done  to  the 
Stage."    John  Crowne,  with  assistance  from  Dryden  and 
Shadwell,  compiled  a  severe    expose  of  Settle's  tragedy, 
to  which  Settle  briskly  rejoined,  much  to  the  amusement 
of  the  public.   That  he  had  wounded  Dryden  to  the  quick 
is  evident   from  the  poet's   savage  attack  upon  him  : — 
"  He's  an  animal  of  most  deplored  understanding,  with- 
out   reading    and    conversation.      His    being    is    in    a 
twilight    of   sense,    and   some    glimmering    of    thought 
which    we    can    never    fashion    into    wit    or    English. 
His   style   is  boisterous  and  rough-hewn,  his  rhyme  in- 
corrigibly lewd,  and  his  numbers  harsh  and  ill-sounding. 
The  little  talent  he  has  is  fancy.      He  sometimes  labours 
with  a  thought ;  but,  with  the  pudder  he  makes  to  bring 
it  into  the  world,  it  is  commonly   still-born ;  so  that  for 
want  of  learning  and  elocution  he  will  never  be  able  to 
express  anything  justly  or  naturally."     Nothing  daunted. 
Settle  continued  to  put  his  plays  upon  the  stage,  and, 

*  It  was  80  much  admired,  that' the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  Court 
learned  it  by  heart,  to  play  before  the  King  at  Whitehall. 


I 


I 


. 


i 


as  he  was  not  wanting  in  invention,  most  of  them  ob- 
tained a  temporary  popularity.  "  Ibraham,  the  Illustrious 
Bassa"  he  founded  on  Magdeleine  de  Scuderi's  two- 
volume  romance,  with  the  same  title ;  ''  Pastor  Fido," 
on  Guarini's  pastoral  drama.  He  also  wrote  "  Love  and 
Eevenge,"  "The  Conquest  of  China  by  the  Tartars," 
"FatJl  Love,"  and  '^Tlie  Female  Prelate,  being  a  History 
of  the  Life  and  Death  of  Pope  Joan."  He  compiled  fifteen 

plays  in  all. 

If  deficient  in  genius,  Settle  did  not  lack  courage,  and 
to  Dryden's  "  Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  in  which,  as  we 
have  seen,  he  was  gibbetted  as  Doeg,  he  replied,  on  behalf 
of  the  Whigs,  with  "  Absalom  Senior ;  or  Absalom  and 
Achitophel  Transposed  "  (1681). 

In  his  latter  days  he  was   overtaken   by  misfortune, 
owing,  perhaps,  to  his   want  of  principle  ;  for,  on  the 
accession  of  James  IL,  he  who  as  a  Whig  had  superin- 
tended the  fireworks  at  the  burning  of  the  Pope's  effigy, 
produced  a  panegyrical  poem  on  the  Coronation  of  James 
n.   (1685).      The  Eevolution  of  1688  left  the  turncoat 
without  friends,  and  he  was  thankful  to  accept  a  small 
pension  as  the   city  poet   for  a  "  Triumph  of  London/* 
written  every  Lord  Mayor's   Day.     As  he  advanced  in 
years  his  poverty  increased  ;  he  wrote  low  "  drolls  "  for 
the  shows  at  Bartholomew  Fair,  and  even  acted  the  part 
of  a  dragon,  enclosed  in  a  green  leather  case  of  his  own 
invention,  to  which  Young  alludes  — 

"  Poor  Elkanah,  all  other  changes  past, 
For  bread  in  Smilbfield  dragons  hissed  at  last; 
Spit  streams  of  fire  to  make  the  butchers  gape, 
And  found  his  manners  suited  to  his  shape." 

He  died  in  the  Charterhouse  on  the  12th  of  February, 


264 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


1724.     Five  years  later  Pope,  in  The  Dunciad  levelled  a 
final  insult  at  the  unfortunate  poetaster  : 

"  Now,  Night  descending,  the  proud  scene  was  o'er, 
But  lived  in  Settle's  numbers  one  day  more." 

He  had  previously  attacked  him  as  "  the  author  of  a 
poem  entitled  *  Successio.'  "  "  Codeus  writes  on,"  he  says, 
"  and  will  for  ever  write."     He  adds : 

"  The  heaviest  Muse  the  swiftest  course  has  gone, 
As  clocks  run  fastest  when  most  lead  is  on. 
What  though  no  bees  around  your  cradle  flew, 
Nor  on  your  lips  distilled  their  golden  dew; 
Yet  have  we  oft  discovered  in  their  stead 
A  Bwarm  of  drones  that  buzzed  about  your  head." 

We  are  hardly  justified  in  including  Shirley  among  the 
Eestoration  dramatists ;  intone  and  sentiment  he  belonged 
to  the  great  Elizabethan  school,  of  which  he  was  the  last, 
and  not  altogether  an  unworthy  member.  But  he  lived 
on  into  Charles's  reign,  and  his  plays  were  sometimes 
produced  for  the  edification  of  Charles's  Court,  which, 
while  listening  to  their  healthy  and  vigorous  poetry,  must 
have  felt  in  the  presence  of  a  fresh  new  atmosphere. 
James  Shirley  was  born  in  London  about  1594,  nine  years 
before  the  death  of  "  great  Elizabeth."  He  was  educated  at 
Merchant  Taylors'  School,  and  St.  John's  College,  Oxford, 
where  Laud  (its  president)  refused  to  ordain  him,  because 
he  was  disfigured  by  a  mole  on  the  left  cheek.  He  then 
removed  to  St.  Catharine's  Hall,  Cambridge,  took  orders, 
and  held  a  cure  near  St.  Albans  until  he  went  over  to  the 
Eoman  Communion.  After  brief  experience  of  a  school- 
master's life  in  the  Grammar  School  at  St.  Albans,  he 
repaired  to  London,  and  began  to  write  for  the  stage. 
His  culture  and  dramatic  skill,  and  his  Catholic  profes- 
sion, secured  him  the  patronage  of  Henrietta  Maria,  and 
he  throve  vigorously  until  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


265 


His  fertility  was  amusing ;  drama  after  drama  proceeded 
from  his  prolific,  but  by  no  means  feeble  pen  : — "  Love 
Tricks,'^  1625;  ''The  Wedding,"  1629;  "The  Grateful 
Servant,"  1630;  "The  School  of  Compliment,"  1631; 
"The  Changes,"  1632  ;  "A  Contention  for  Honour  and 
Eiches,"  1633;  "The  Witty  Fair  One,"  "The  Bird  in  a 
Cage,"  "  The  Triumph  of  Peace,"  "  The  Night  Walkers  " 
(adapted  from  Fletcher),  all  in  1633.  In  1635  appeared 
"  The  Traitor,"  which,  on  October  10th,  1661,  Mr.  Pepys 
saw  "  most  admirably  acted,"  and  thought  "  a  most  excel- 
lent play  ;  "  and  in  1637,  "  The  Lady  of  Pleasure,"  "The 
Young  Admiral,"  "The  Example,"  "Hyde  Park,"  and 
"The  Gamester."  When  the  Master  of  the  Eevels 
licensed  "  The  Young  Admiral,"  he  entered  in  his  register 
his  formal  approval  of  its  freedom  from  obscenity  and 
profaneness,  trusting  that  the  exceptional  commendation 
would  encourage  the  poet  "  to  pursue  this  beneficial  and 
cleanly  way  of  poetry."  Evelyn  in  his  Diary  refers  to 
this  play  as  having  been  acted  before  the  King  in  October, 
1662.  "  The  Gamester,"  a  comedy  of  genuine  merit,  was 
founded  on  one  of  Malespini's  "  Ducento  Novelle ;  "  and 
its  success  has  led  to  its  revival  on  three  separate  occa- 
sions—as "The  Wife's  Eelief;  or.  The  Husband's 
Cure,"  adapted  by  Charles  Johnson,  in  1711;  as  "  The 
Gamester,"  in  1758,  by  Garrick;  and  as  "The  Wife's 
Stratagem,"  in  1827,  by  John  Poole.  The  comedy  of 
"  Hyde  Park  "  is  characterised  by  Alexander  Dyce  as  "  a 
finished  specimen,  replete  with  airy,  sparkling  wit." 
Pepys  notes  (on  July  11th,  1668)  that  "  he  went  to  see  an 
old  play  of  Shirley^s  called  Eyde  ParJc,  where  horses  are 
brought  upon  the  stage;  but  it  is  a  very  moderate  play, 
only  an  excellent  epilogue  spoke  by  Beck  Marshall." 


266 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


267 


In  1637  Shirley  went  to  Dublin,  and  supplied  plays  for 
tlie  new  theatre,  opened  by  Ogilby,  whom  lie  afterwards 
assisted  in  translating  Homer  and  Virgil.  Eeturning  to 
London  in  1638,  at  the  opening  of  the  Civil  War,  he 
exchanged  his  pen  for  his  sword,  and  fought  under  the 
chivalrous  Earl  of  Newcastle,  whom  he  helped,  according 
to  Anthony  Wood,  in  the  composition  of  his  dramas.  The 
success  of  the  Commonwealth  party  closed  the  theatres, 
and  Shirley  was  obliged  to  resume  his  old  profession  as  a 
schoolmaster,  in  which  he  continued  after  the  Restoration. 
Driven  from  his  house  in  Whitefriars  by  the  Great  Fire, 
he  and  his  wife  were  so  overwhelmed  by  anxiety  and 
alarm  that  they  both  died  on  the  same  day  in  October, 

1666. 

Besides  the  plays  already  mentioned  he  wrote  *'The 
Eoyal  Master,"  1638;    "The    Duke's   Mistress,"    1638; 
"The  Maid's  Revenge,"  1639  ;  ''The  Tragedy  of  Chabot, 
Admiral  of  France,"    1639;  "The    Ball,"   in   which   he 
collaborated  with  George  Chapman,  1639;  *^The  Arcadia," 
1640,— a  pastoral,  in  which,  with  much  poetical  feeling,  he 
has  embodied  the  chief  incidents  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's 
famous  romance;  "The  Humorous  Courtier/'  1640  ;  and, 
in  the  same  year,   "  St.   Patrick  for  Ireland,"  "  Love's 
Cruelty,"  "  The  Constant  Maid,"  and  "  The  Coronation." 
"The  Triumph  of  Beauty"  appeared  in  1646,  and  *'The 
Brothers  "in  1652,  together  with  "The  Sisters,"  "The 
Doubtful  Heir,"  "The  Imposture,"  and  "The  Cardinal." 
Pour  plays  belong  to  1653,—"  The  Court  Secret,"  ''  Cupid 
and  Death,"    "The  General,"    and    "Love's  Victory." 
"The  Politician,"  and  "The  Gentleman  of  Yenice,"  1605; 
"  The  Contention  of  Ajax   and  Achilles,"    1659,   and  in 
the  same  year,  "  Honoria  and  Mammon."     Of  his  earliest 


H 


work,  "Echo;  or.  The  Unfortunate  Lovers,"  1618,  no 
trace  remains;  and  it  is  supposed  to  be  identical  with 
"  Narcissus ;  or.  The  Self-Lover,"  which  he  published  in 
1646.  The  influence  of  Shakespeare's  "Venus  and 
Adonis"  is  conspicuous  in  it.  Shirley  was  also  the 
author  of  three  Latin  Grammars,  "  An  Essay  Towards  an 
Universal  and  Rational  Grammar,"  and  of  a  volume  of 
notes  and  miscellaneous  poems. 

No  author,  except  Shakespeare,  has  written  so  many 
five-act  pieces.      His   fertility    of    invention   was   most 
admirable,  and  there  is  as  much  vigour  as  fluency  in  his 
versification,  which  has    sometimes   a  ring  of  Fletcher's 
graceful  style,  and  sometimes  of  Massinger's  freedom  and 
variety.     He  was  the  last  of  the  Elizabethans  ;  not  equal 
to  the  greatest  among  them,  yet  not  altogether  unworthy 
to  wear  their  singing  robes  and  keep  them  company.    He 
sat  at  the  same  table,    though  lower  down  than  those 
whom  he  acknowledged  to  be  his  masters.     Mr.  Hallam 
is  of  opinion  that  he  has  no  originality,  which  is  true  in 
the  sense  that  his  plays  do  not  bear  the  impress  of  a 
strong  and  distinct  individualism  ;  that  he  has  no  force  in 
conceiving  or  delineating  character,  though  his  "  Bostock" 
in  "  The  Ball,"  and  "Aretina"  in  "  The  Lady  of  Pleasure," 
are-  types  well-designed  and  well-executed ;  that  he  has 
little  of  pathos,  and  less,  perhaps,  of  wit.     Hallam  owns, 
however,  that "  his  mind  was  poetical ;  his  better  characters,, 
especially  females,  express  pure  thoughts  in  pure  language ; 
he  is  never  timid  or  affected,  and  seldom  obscure;  the 
incidents  succeed  rapidly,  the  personages  are  numerous, 
and  there  is  a  general  animation  in  the  scenes,  which 
causes  us  to   read  him  with    some  pleasure."      While 
admitting  his  want  of  profound  interest,  and  his  incapa- 


268 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


bility  to  grapple  with  the  stronger  passions,  Campbell  is 
charmed  with  his  polished  and  refined  language,  the  airy 
touches  of  his  expression,  the  delicacy  of  his  sentiments^ 
and  the  happiness  of  his  imagery.  Of  the  felicitous  grace 
with  which  he  writes,  here  is  a  specimen  : — 

**  Her  eye  did  seem  to  labour  with  a  tear, 
Which  suddenly  took  birth,  but  overweighed 
With  its  own  swelling,  dropt  upon  her  bosom, 
Which,  by  reflection  of  her  light,  appeared 
As  nature  meant  her  sorrow  for  an  ornament. 
After,  her  looks  grew  c  heerf ul,  and  I  saw 
A  smile  shoot  graceful  upward  from  her  eyea, 
As  if  they  had  gained  a  victory  o'er  grief  j 
And  with  it  many  beams  twisted  themselves, 
Upon  whose  golden  threads  the  angels  walk 
To  and  again  from  heaven." 

"  Shirley,"  says  Charles  Lamb,  ^'  claims  a  place  among 
the  worthies  of  this  period,  not  so  much  for  any  transcen- 
dant  genius  in  himself  as  that  he  was  the  last  of  a  great 
race,  all  of  whom  spoke  nearly  the  same  language,  and  had 
a  set  of  moral  feelings  and  notions  in  common."  He  in- 
herited, as  it  were,  their  traditions,  and  was  so  ardent  in 
his  loyalty  that  no  ambition  ever  crossed  him  to  strike  out 
an  independent  path.  He  was  content  to  do  as  they  had 
done;  to  echo  their  music,  and  paint  with  the  same 
colours.  He  was,  however,  no  incompetent  or  servile 
imitator.  He  studied,  but  he  did  not  copy.  His  own 
gifts  were  considerable,  and  entitle  him  to  our  respect.  Few 
men  have  ever  exhibited  a  richer  fancy,  and  this  fancy  is 
generally  pure  and  elevated.  His  scenes  abound  in  similes 
of  the  most  agreeable  and  picturesque  kind  ;  and  even 
when  his  characters  are  not  very  boldly  drawn,  or  his  inci- 
dents worked  up  with  much  passion,  he  invariably  pleases 
by  his  melodious  eloquence  and  by  the  subdued  pathos  of 
his  strain.     He  constantly  reminds  us  of  Fletcher,  who 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


26^ 


was  evidently  his  favourite  model,  and  in  two  or  three  of 
the  lyrics  scattered  through  his  plays  we  observe  all 
Fletcher's  exquisite  grace  and  tender  melancholy.  The 
elder  poet  would  have  had  no  cause  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
following  "  Lullaby,"  which  occurs  in  Shirley's  masque 
of  " The  Triumph  of  Beauty"  (1646):- 

"Cease,  warring  thoughts,  and  let  this  brain 
No  more  discord  entertain, 
But  be  smooth  and  calm  again. 
Ye  crystal  rivers  that  are  nigh, 
As  your  streams  are  passing  by 
Teach  your  murmurs  harmony. 
Ye  winds  that  wait  upon  the  Spring 
And  perfumes  to  flowers  do  bring, 
Let  your  amorous  whispers  here 
Breathe  soft  music  to  his  ear. 
Ye  warbling  nightingales  repair 
From  every  wood  to  charm  this  air. 
And  with  the  wonders  of  your  breast 
Each  striving  to  excel  the  rest, 
When  it  is  time  to  wake  him,  close  your  parts, 
And  drop  down  from  the  tree  with  broken  hearts." 

In  the  well-known  Dirge  from  "The  Contention  of 
Ajax  and  TJlyses "  (1659),  which,  it  is  said,  was  a 
favourite  with  Charles  II.,  we  hear  that  sad  note  origina- 
ting in  a  deep  sense  of  the  mutability  of  human  things 
that  echoes  through  all  the  Elizabethan  poetry.  Though 
these  fine  stanzas  have  appeared  in  all  our  Anthologies,  the 
reader  will  not  fail  to  welcome  their  transcription  in  our 
pages : — 

"  The  glories  of  our  birth  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things; 
There  is  no  armour  against  fate  ; 
Death  lays  his  icy  hands  on  kings  : 
Sceptre  and  crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 


270  THE    MEERY   MONAECH  ; 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 

And  plant  fresh  lanrels  where  they  kill- 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield  j 
They  tame  but  one  another  still : 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate, 
And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath, 
When  they,  poor  creatures,  creep  to  death. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow. 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds ; 
Upon  Death's  purple  altar  now 

See,  where  the  victor-victim  bleeds  : 
Your  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb, 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet  and  blossom  in  the  dust." 

The  last  stanza  seems  to  us  perfect  in  expression ;  there 
are  no  redundant  epithets ;  and  the  compound  "  vietor- 
victim  "  is  introduced  with  happy  effect. 

Of  the  fluent  elegance  and  natural  force  of  his  dramatic 
style,  we  give  a  brief  specimen  from  "The  Grateful  Ser- 
vant/' Cleona  is  told  by  her  page,  Dulcino,  of  his 
interview  with  her  lover  Foscari  :— 

'*  Cleona.— The  day  breaks  glorious  to  my  darkened  thoughts. 
He  lives,  he  lives  yet !     Cease— ye  amorous  fears, 
More  to  perplex  me.— Prithee,  speak,  sweet  youth, 
How  fares  my  lord  ?     Upon  my  virgin  heart 
I'll  build  a  flaming  altar,  to  offer 
A  thankful  sacrifice  for  his  return 
To  life  and  me.     Speak,  and  increase  my  comforts. 
Is  he  in  perfect  health  ? 
Dul. — Kot  perfect,  madam. 

Until  you  bless  him  with  the  knowledge  of 
Your  constancy. 
^e._Oh,  get  thee  wings,  and  fly,  then  ; 

Tell  him  my  love  doth  burn  like  vestal  fire, 
Which,  with  his  memory  richer  than  all  spices, 
Disperses  odours  round  about  my  soul. 
And  did  refresh  it  when  'twas  dull  and  sad 
With  thinking  of  his  absence—       [He  is  going. 

Yet  stay, 
Thou  goest  away  too  soon.    Where  is  he  ?    Speak. 


OE,    ENGLAND   TJNDEE   CHAELES    11.  271 

j)^l^ — He  gave  me  no  commission  for  that,  lady  ; 

He  will  soon  save  that  question  by  his  presence. 
Cle. — Time  has  no  feathers ;  he  walks  now  on  crutches. 

Relate  his  gestures  when  he  gave  thee  this. 

What  other  words  ?     Did  mirth  smile  on  his  brow  ? 

I  would  not  for  the  wealth  of  this  great  world 

He  should  suspect  my  faith.     What  said  he,  prithee  ? 
J)ul.—B.e  said  what  a  warm  lover,  whom  desire 

Makes  eloquent,  could  speak ;  he  said  you  were 

Both  star  and  pilot. 
Cle.— The  sun's  loved  flower  that  shuts  his  yellow  curtain 

When  he  declineth,  opens  it  again 

At  his  fair  rising :  with  my  parting  lord 

I  closed  all  my  delight;  till  his  approach 

It  shall  not  spread  itself." 

Thomas  Shadwell,  who  came  of  a  good  old  Stafford- 
shire family,  was  born  at  Stanton  Hall,  Norfolk,  in  1640. 
Educated  at  Caius  College,  Cambridge,  he  entered  the 
Middle  Temple  for  the  study  of  the  law ;  made  the  usual 
continental  tour ;  and  returning  home,  embraced  the  pro- 
fession  of  letters.  As  the  stage  then  offered  the  readiest 
way  to  distinction,  Shadwell,  in  1669,  produced  the  tragic 
comedy  of  "  The  Foyal  Shepherdess,"  which  was  sufficiently 
successful  to  encourage  him  to  persevere.  Taking  Ben 
Jonson  as  his  model,  he  next  wrote  "  The  Sullen  Lovers" 
and  "The  Humorists,^'  and  in  1671  adapted  Moliere's 
«  L'Avare,"  under  the  name  of  "  The  Miser."  Then  came 
the  tragedy  of  "Psyche"  in  1675,  and  that  of  "The 
Libertine"  in  1676.  In  the  same  year  was  acted  one  of 
his  best  comedies,  "  Epsom  Wells,"  a  comedy  of  manners, 
lively,  bustling,  and  humorous,  which  in  itself  is  a  suffi- 
cient answer  to  Dryden's  bitter  sneer  that  "Shadwell 
never  deviates  into  sense."  Shadwell  was  a  Whig,  and 
political  rancour  has  done  its  best  to  depreciate  his  ability 
and  mutilate  his  fame ;  but  as  a  dramatist  he  rose  head 
and  shoulders  above  most  of  his  contemporaries,  and  it  is 


272 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


273 


only  in  his  "  Love  for  Love  "  and  "  Don  Sebastian  "  tliat 
Dryden  has  over  passed  him.  He  shared  with  some  other 
writers  the  strange  notion  that  Shakespeare  was  deficient 
in  stage-craft,  and,  in  1678,  improved  after  his  fashion  the 
great  poet's  "  Timon  of  Athens.''  In  his  dedication  he 
says  that  "  Shakespeare  never  made  more  masterly  strokes 
than  in  this,  yet  I  can  truly  say  I  have  made  it  into  a 

i^layT 

Shadwell,  in  1682,  published  his  "  Lancashire  Witches," 
which  secured  an  immediate  popularity,  and  in  Teague 
O'Divelly,  the  Irish  priest,  and  Smerk,  a  Church  of 
England  chaplain,  contains  two  strongly  marked  and 
original  characters.  Yet  it  is  by  no  means  one  of  his 
best  efforts,  and  its  success  must  greatly  have  been  due  to 
political  feeling.  Its  attacks  on  the  Eoman  Catholics  and  on 
the  intolerance  of  the  Anglicans  are  so  severe  that  much 
of  the  dialogue  was  omitted  on  the  stage,  by  order  of  the 
Master  of  the  Eevels,  but  it  is  restored  in  the  published 
play.  "Bury  Fair,"  1689,  and  "  The  Scriveners,"  1690, 
belong  to  the  same  category  as  "Epsom  Wells,"  and 
reflect  the  manners  of  the  period  with  a  good  deal  of  satiric 
force.  Of  his  comedy,  "  The  Virtuoso,"  1676,  Langbaine 
writes*  "that  nobody  will  deny  this  play  its  meed  of 
applause.  At  least,  I  know  that  the  University  of  Oxford, 
wlio  may  be  allowed  competent  judges  of  comedy,  especially 
if  such  characters  as  Sir  Nicholas  Gimcrack  and  Sir  Formal 
Trifle,  applauded  it.  And  as  no  one  undertook  to  discover 
the  frailties  of  sucli  pretenders  to  this  kind  of  knowledge 
before  Mr.  Shadwell,  so  none  since  Mr.  Jonson's  time  ever 
drew   so  many  different  characters  of  humour,  and  with 

•  Gerard    Langbaine   (1656-1692),     in    his    "Account    of    the    English 
Dramatick  Poets,"  (1691),  from  which  we  have  often  borrowed. 


14 


such  success."  Elsewhere  Langbaine  says: — "I  own  I 
like  his  (Shad well's)  comedies  better  than  Dryden 's,  as 
having  more  variety  of  characters,  and  those  drawn  from 
life.  .  .  .  That  Mr.  Shadwell  has  preferred  Ben  Jonson 
for  his  model  I  am  very  certain  of,  and  those  who  will 
read  the  preface  to  '  The  Humourists  '  may  be  sufficiently 
satisfied  what  a  value  he  has  for  that  great  man."  His  in- 
debtedness to  Ben  Jonson  appears  somewhat  prominently 
in  his  "  Squire  of  Alsatia."  ^ 

Eochester  couples  Shadwell  with  Wycherley,  which  is 
unfair  to  the  author  of  "  The  Plain  Dealer  "  : — 

"  None  serve  to  touch  upon  true  comedy 
But  hasty  Shadwell  and  slow  Wycherley.'* 

And  he  esteemed  his  conversational  powers  so 
highly,  that  he  said  of  him — "  If  he  had  burnt  all  he 
wrote,  and  printed  all  he  spoke,  he  would  have  had  more 
wit  and  humour  than  any  other  poet.''  The  tragic 
dramatist  has  a  much  better  chance  of  being  remembered 
by  posterity  than  the  comic,  for  the  former  deals  with  the 
passions,  which  are  immortal ;  the  latter  with  the  humours, 
which  are  fugitive.  For  this  reason  Shadwell,  now-a-days, 
is  a  mere  name ;  but  his  ill-fortune  is  also  owing  to  his 
presumptuous  folly  in  attempting  to  reply  to  Dryden's 
poem  of  "  The  Medal — a  Satire  against  Shaftesbury  " 
(1682).  Shad  well's  composition  was  entitled  "  The  Medal 
of  John  Bayes — a  Satire  against  Folly  and  Knavery," 
and  was  one  long  invective  against  the  great  poet,  who  is 
styled  ''  coward,"  ''  slave,"  "  half-wit,"  "  half-fool,"  and 
reviled  with  a  coarseness  which  renders  quotation  im- 
possible.    Unlucky  Shadwell!  he  drew  down  upon  him- 

*  This  comedy  was  partly  written  nnder  the  roof  of  the  genial  and  generous 
Dorset,  at  Copped  Hall,  near  Epping. 

VOL.    I.  T 


274 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


self  the  blasting  liglitning  of  Dryden's  wrath  in  his 
"Mac  Flecknoe/'  published  in  October,  1682,  and  fell  to 
the  ground,  crushed  and  prostrate,  a  thing  for  gods  and 
men  to  laugh  at,  or  regard  with  contemptuous  pity. 

Eichard  Flecknoe,  an  Irish  Eoman  Catholic  Priest,  who 
wrote  much  nonsense,  and  died  in  1778  ;  who — 

"  In  pun  and  verse  was  owned  without  dispute 
Through  all  the  realms  of  nonsense  absolute ; — '* 

is  represented  as  in  his  last  days  appointing  Shadwell  to  be 
his  successor  on  the  throne  of  Dulness,  because  he  alone  of 
all  his  sons  stood  "confirmed  in  full  stupidity."  From  all 
quarters,  through  streets  littered  with  paper,  the  nations 
assemble  to  gaze  upon  the  young  hero,  who  stands  near  his 
father's  throne,  his  brow  enveloped  in  thick  fogs,  and  "a 
vacant  smile  of  satisfied  imbecility"  upon  his  counte- 
nance : — 

"  The  hoary  prince  in  majesty  appeared, 
High  on  the  throne  of  his  own  labour  seared. 
At  his  right  hand  our  young  Ascanius  sate, 
Rome's  other  hope,  and  pillar  of  the  State  ; 
His  brows  thick  fogs  instead  of  glories  grace, 
And  lambent  dulness  played  around  his  face. 
As  Hannibal  did  lo  tlie  altars  come, 
Sworn  by  his  sire,  a  mortal  foe  to  Rome  ; 
So  Shadwell  swore,  nor  should  his  vow  be  vain, 
That  he  till  death  true  dulness  would  maintain, 
And  in  his  father's  right  and  realm's  defence, 
Ne'er  to  have  peace  with  wit,  nor  truce  with  sense. 
The  King  himself  the  sacred  unction  made, 
As  King  by  office,  juhI  as  priest  by  trade. 
In  his  sinister  hand,  instead  of  ball, 
He  placed  a  mighty  mug  of  potent  ale." 

The  impetuous  satirist  continues  to  shower  down  blow 
upon  blow.  He  attacks  Shadwell's  method  of  composi- 
tion : — 


it 


This  is  thy  province,  this  thy  wondrous  way, 
New  humours  to  invent  for  each  new  play." 


-'i 


f" 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.         275 

He  cannot  refrain  from  a  coarse  personal  allusion  : — 

"  Nor  let  thy  mountain-belly  make  pretence 
Of  likeness;  thine's  a  tympany  of  sense, 
A  tun  of  man  in  thy  large  bulk  is  writ." 

Flecknoe  continues  to  bless  and  advise  his  successor 
until,  after  the  manner  of  Sir  Formal  Trifle,  in  Shad- 
well's  comedy  of  "  The  Virtuoso,"  he  disappears  through 
a  trap  door  — 

"  He  said  :  but  his  last  words  were  scarcely  heard : 
For  Burn  and  Longril  " — 

two  characters  in  ''  The  Virtuoso  " — 

"  had  a  trap  prepared, 
And  down  they  sent  the  yet  declaiming  bard. 
Sinking  he  left  his  drugget  robe  behind. 
Borne  upward  by  a  subterranean  wind. 
The  mantle  fell  to  the  young  prophet's  part, 
With  double  portion  of  his  father's  art." 

Eefusing  to  take  the  oaths  of  allegiance  and  supremacy 
to  William  and  Mary,  Dry  den,  in  1689,  lost  his  offices  of 
poet-laureate  and  historiographer,  which,  at  the  instance 
of  Lord  Dorset,  were  bestowed  upon  Shadwell.  That  his 
old  enemy  should  be  thus  preferred  was  gall  and  worm- 
wood to  the  author  of  "  Mac  Flecknoe,"  who  would  not 
have  resrretted  his  loss  if  the  laurel  had  fallen  to  Con- 
greve;  but  on  the  Whig  side  Shadwell  was  the  man  of 
letters  most  worthy  of  it.  He  wore  it  only  three  years. 
His  death  occurred  on  the  19th  of  November,  1692.  The 
story  goes  that  it  was  accelerated  by  an  overdose  of  opium, 
to  the  use  of  which  drug  he  had  been  addicted,  though 
always  taking  the  precaution  (says  Dr.  Bendy)  to  say  his 
prayers  before  he  swallowed  his  dose. 

The  name  of  Thomas  Southern  is  somewhat  faintly 
preserved — every  year  the  remembrance  growing  dimmer — 


276 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


bj  his  tragedies  of  "  Oronooko,"  founded  on  Mrs.  Aphra 
Belin's  novel,  and  of  "  Isabella  ;  or,  The  Fatal  Marriage  " 
(originally  entitled  "The  Innocent  Adultery"),  in  wbicb 
our  most  famous  actresses  from  Mrs.  Porter  and  Peg 
Wofi&Dgton  down  to  Mrs.  Siddons  and  Miss  O'Neil,  bave 
loved  to  exhibit  their  powers. 

Thomas  Southern  was  born  in  Dublin  in  1660,  the  year 
of  the  Kestoration,  and  educated  there  at  Trinity  College. 
At  the  age  of  eighteen  he  crossed  the  Channel,  made  his 
way  to  London,  and  entered  himself  at  the  Middle  Temple. 
He  soon  abandoned  the  study  of  the  law,  and  took  up  the 
popular  craft  of  dramatic  writing.  He  must  have  already 
become  a  member  of  the  literary  society  of  London,  when, 
in  1682,  he  produced  his  first  play,  "The  Loyal  Brother; 
or,  The  Persian  Prince,"  for  Dryden  consented  to  write  a 
prologue  and  epilogue  to  it.  On  this  occasion  Dryden 
raised  the  price  of  his  prologue,  because  the  players,  he 
said,  had  had  his  goods  too  cheap.  Southern  borrowed  his 
plot  from  a  now  forgotten  novel,  "  Tachmus,  Prince  of 
Persia ;"  and  his  play  grew  into  popularity,  because  it  was 
understood  to  be  a  compliment  to  James,  Duke  of  York. 
In  1684,  appeared  his  comedy,  "  The  Disappointment ;  or. 
The  Mother  in  Fashion,"  founded  on  the  novel  in  ''  Don 
Quixote  "  of  "  The  Curious  Impertinent."  In  the  follow- 
incr  year,  on  James  II.'s  accession  to  the  throne,  he  entered 
the  army,  and  was  soon  promoted  to  the  command  of  a 
company  in  Lord  Ferrer's  regiment,  in  which  he  served 
during  Monmouth's  rebellion.  With  military  service  he 
V  as  quickly  satisfied,  and  hanging  up  his  sword  he  resumed 
his  well-loved  pen.  Unlike  the  majority  of  the  wits  and 
dramatists  of  the  day,  he  lived  a  prudent  and  decorous 
life,  made  money,  and  saved  it.    When  Dryden  once  asked 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


277 


him  how  much  he  had  obtained  for  his  last  new  play,  he 
admitted,  to  the  poet's  great  astonishment,  that  he  had 
received  £700.  He  succeeded  in  extracting  from  a  pub- 
lisher £150  for  the  mere  right  of  printing  one  of  his 
dramas.  Before  his  time  a  dramatic  author  had  claimed 
only  one  night's  profits  as  his  perquisites.  Southern  in- 
sisted on  a  second  and  a  third  night;  and  he  did  not  dis- 
dain to  go  round  to  his  patrons  and  sell  tickets  for  the 
nio-hts  in  which  he  had  this  personal  interest. 

"  He  was  a  perfect  gentleman ;  he  did  not  lounge  away 
his  days  or  nights  in  coff*ee-houses  or  taverns,  but  after 
labour  cultivated  friendship  in  home  circles,  where  virtue 
and  moderate  mirth  sat  at  the  hearth.  In  his  bag- wig, 
his  black  velvet  dress,  his  sword,  powder,  brilliant  buckles, 
and  self-possession,  Southerne  charmed  his  company, 
wherever  he  visited,  even  at  fourscore.  He  kept  the  even 
tenor  of  his  way,  owing  no  man  anything;  never  allowing 
his  nights  to  be  the  marrers  of  his  mornings;  and  at  six- 
and-eighty  carrying  a  bright  eye,  a  steady  hand,  a  clear 
head,  and  a  warm  heart,  wherewith  to  calmly  meet,  and 
make  surrender  of  all  to  the  Inevitable  Angel." 

In  May,  1692,  Southern  produced  Dryden's  tragedy  of 
''  Cleomenes ;  or,  The  Spartan  Hero,"  which,  at  the  poet's 
request,  he  had  finished  for  him,  adding  the  second  half  of 
the  fifth  act.  His  tragedy  of  ''  The  Fatal  Marriage,"  in 
which  he  is  seen  at  his  best,  appeared  in  1694,  and  his 
"Oronooko"  in  1696.  In  his  comedies  very  little  of  his 
unquestionable  talent  is  conspicuous.  His  "Sir  Anthony 
Love"  was  successful;  but  the  only  good  thing  in  it  is  Sir 
Anthony's  speech  to  Count  Yerola : — "  Of  the  King's 
creation  you  may  be ;  but  he  who  makes  a  count  never 
made  a  man  "—a  thought  which  has  often  been  repeated, 


278 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


or  rather  has  occurred  independently  to  different  minds. 
As  to  Burns  : — 

"  A  king  may  make  a  belted  knight, 
A  marqniB,  duke,  an'  a'  that ; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might, 
Gude  faith  he  cannot  fa'  that." 

Southern  wrote  ten  plays  in  all.  To  those  we  have 
named  may  be  added  "The  Wife's  Excuse,"  1692,  *^The 
Spartan  Dance,"  and  ''The  Rambling  Lady," and  "  Money's 
the  Mistress."  With  the  last,  which  was  unsuccessful,  he 
closed  his  long  and  respectable  career.  He  died  May  26th, 
1746,  having  thus  lived  tlirougli  the  reigns  of  Charles  II., 
James  IT,  William  III.,  Anne,  George  I.,  and  into  that  of 
George  II.  He  was  born  in  the  year  which  witnessed  the 
restoration  of  the  Stuart  dynasty  to  the  throne,  and  he 
died  in  that  which  beheld  its  collapse  on  the  fiital  field  of 
Culloden.* 

Sir  Eobert  Stapleton  may  be  dismissed  in  a  few  lines. 
He  was  the  third  son  of  a  Yorkshire  gentleman;  was  born 
in  the  early  part  of  the  17tli  century _,  and  educated  at 
Douai  in  the  English  Benedictine  Monastery.  Eeturning 
to  England,  and  mixing  with  some  men  of  wit  and  fashion, 
lie  abandoned  the  creed  of  his  fathers  ;  and  obtained  the 
post  of  gentleman  usher  to  Prince  Charles — a  post  he 
retained  after  Charles  ascended  the  throne.  In  1642  his 
royal  master  knighted  him  ;  when  the  king  retired  into 
Oxford,  after  the  Battle  of  Edgehill,  the  University  re- 
warded his  loyal  services  by  making  him  a  D.C.L.  At  the 
Eestoration,  this  scholarly  cavalier  and  gentleman  received 
a  small  court  office,  and  began  to  write  for  the  stage.  His 
comedy  of  ^'The  Slighted  Maid,"  1663,  was  felt  to  be  dull 
by  the  theatre-going  Pepys;  and  Dry  den  says  of  it,  that 

♦  The  battle  of  CuUoden  was  fought  on  the  16th  of  April,  1746. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


279 


"  there  is  nothing  in  the  first  act  that  might  not  be  said 
or  done  in  the  second ;  nor  anything  in  the  middle  which 
mio-ht  not  as  well  have  been  at  the  beginning  or  the  end." 
<'Tlie  Step-Mother,"  was  given  to  the  world  in  1664  ;  "The 
Royal  Choice,"  about  1667;  and  "Hero  and  Leander," 
in  1669.  The  last  was  a  dramatic  version  of  the  "Loves 
of  Hero  and  Leander,"  which  he  had  already  translated 
from  the  Greek  of  Musaiiis.  He  also  translated  Juvenal, 
and  Strada's  History  of  the  Belgic  War.     He  died  on  the 

11th  of  July,  1669. 

The  name  of   Nahuni  Tate    is  preserved  in  connection 
with  that  monument   of  portentous  dulness,  the   autho- 
rized metrical  version  of  the  Psalms,  which,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Nicholas  Brady,  he  executed  in  1695-1698.     He 
was  the  son  of  Dr.   Faithful  Tate,  was  born  at  Dublin  in 
1652,  and  educated  there  at  Trinity  College.     He  came  to 
London,   and   at   the   age   of  25   published  a  volume  of 
"Poems."      Turning,    like    most    of    the   clever   young 
men  of  the  day,  to  the  stage  as  the  best  means  of  securing 
public  recognition,   he  in  rapid  succession  produced  his 
trao-edies  of  "Brutus  of  Alba,"   "The  Loyal  General," 
and    "Richard   11. ;   or,   The    Sicilian    Usurper."     With 
infinite  audacity  he  applied  his  mangling  hand  to  Shakes- 
peare's "  King  Lear,"  undertaking  "to  rectify  what  was 
wanting ;  "  and   carrying   out   his   undertaking   by  con- 
verting it  into  a  kind  of  comedy,  which  ends  with  the 
happiness  of  Lear  and  Cordelia !     Ho  also  altered  "  Corio- 
lanus,'^  and  applied  it  to  current  politics,  under  the  title 
of  "The  Ingratitude  of  a  Commonwealth;  or.   The  Fall 
of  Coriolanus."     As  a  member  of  the  Tory  party,  and  a 
hanger-on  of  Dryden,  he  was  allowed  to  furnish  the  great 
satirist's  "Absalom  and  Achitophel  "  with  a  second  part. 


280 


THE  MEBRY  MONARCH  j 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


281 


published  in  1682,  to  which  Dryden  contributed  the  cha- 
racters of  Settle  as  Doeg  and  Shadwell  as  Og,  and  some 
other  touches,  amountin;^^  in  all  to  200  lines  (lines  310-509). 
Plying  an  industrious,  if  not  a  brilliant,  pen,  Tate  pub- 
lished, in  1686,  his  ''Memorials  for  the  Learned,'^  and  in 
1691  his  "  Characters  of  Virtue  and  Vice."  In  the  follow- 
ing year,  on  the  death  of  Shadwell,  he  was  made  poet- 
laureate,  though  those  were  sadly  withered  laurels  which 
crowned  his  unblushing  brow  ;  and  to  show  how  unworthy 
he  was  of  the  office,  he  accomplished,  in  1696,  with  the 
assistance  of  Dr.  Nicholas  Brady,  his  "  New  Version  of 
the  Psalms."  His  endowments  did  not  suffice  to  secure 
him  from  the  consequences  of  his  intemperance  and  im- 
providence, and  lie  died  poor  and  in  debt,  on  the  12th  of 
Auo-ust,  1715.  Besides  the  works  already  named  he  wrote 
"  Miscellanea  Sacra,"  1698  ;  "  Panacea,  a  Poem  on  Tea  ;" 
a  play  called  ^'The  Innocent  Epicure,"  and  a  volume  of 
"  Elegies,"  1699.  The  loyal  birthday  odes  which  he  wrote 
as  poet-laureate  are  such  wretched  trash  as  fully  to  justify 
Pope's  bitterly  contemptuous  reference  : — 

"  The  bard  whom  pilfered  pastorals  renown, 
Who  turns  a  Perfiiati  tale  for  half  a  crown, 
Just  writes  to  make  his  barrenness  appear, 
And  strains,  from  liard-bound  brains,  eight  times  a  year: 
He  w^io,  still  wanting,'-,  tiiough  he  lived  on  theft. 
Steals  much,  spends  little,  yet  has  nothing  left  : 
And  he  who  now  to  sense,  now  nonsense  leaning, 
Means  not,  but  blunders  round  about  a  meaning, 
And  he  whose  fustian's  so  sublimely  bad. 
It  is  not  poetry,  but  pun  run  mad  ; 
All  these  my  modest  satire  bade  translate. 
And  owned  that  nine  such  poets  made  a  Tate." 

One  of  the  most  successful  comedies  of  the  Eestoration 
period  was  "  The  Adventures  of  Five  Hours,^'  skilfully 
adapted,  at  the  suggestion  of  Charles  II.,  from  the  Spanish 


of  Calderon,  by  Sir  Samuel  Tuke.  It  was  produced  in  1663, 
and  gave  great  satisfaction  to  the  public.  Pepys  praises 
it  with  extravagant  warmth  (January  8fcli : — ^^  There  being 
the  famous  new  play  acted  the  first  time  to-day,  which  is 
called  'The  Adventures  of  Five  Hours,'  at  the  Duke^s 
house,  being,  they  say,  made  or  translated  by  Colonel  Tuke, 
I  did  long  to  see  it ;  and  so  we  went ;  and  though  early, 
were  forced  to  sit,  almost  out  of  sight,  at  the  end  of  one  of 
the  lower  formes,  so  full  was  the  house.  And  the  play,  in 
one  word,  is  the  best,  for  the  variety  and  the  most  excel- 
lent contrivance  of  the  plot  to  the  very  end,  that  ever  I 
saw,  or  think  ever  shall,  and  all  possible,  not  only  to  be 
done  in  the  time,  but  in  most  other  respects  very  admit- 
table,  and  without  one  word  of  ribaldry ;  and  the  house, 
by  its  frequent  plaudits,  did  show  their  sufficient  appro- 
bation''). 

Mr.  Pepys  was  so  well  pleased  that  he  went  to  see  it 
again  on  the  17th,  though  then  "it  did  not  seem  so  good 
as  at  first,"  owing,  he  candidly  says,  to  "  my  being  out  of 
order."     But,  he  adds,  it  is  indeed  "  a  very  fine  play.'^  * 

Evelyn  was  present  at  the  first  performance.  '^  I  went," 
he  says,  "  to  see  my  kinsman.  Sir  George  Tuke's,  comedy 
acted  at  tbe  Duke's  Theatre,  which  took  so  universally, 
that  it  was  acted  for  some  weeks  every  day,  and  it  was 
believed  it  would  be  worth  to  the  comedians  £400  or  £500. 
The  plot  was  incomparable ;  but  the  language  stiff  and 
formal.'^  Evelyn's  criticism  is,  as  usual,  judicious.  The 
play,  as  Langbaine  says,  is  excellent  "  for  economy  and 
contrivance  ;  "  "  one  of  the  pleasantest  stories,"  says 
Echard,    "that  have  appeared  on  our  stage;"  but  the 

*  On  another  occasion  he  pronounces  "  Othello"  "a  mean  thing"  when 
compared  with  Sir  Samuel  Tuke's  comedy. 


282 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


dialogue  is  seldom  easy  or  witty.     The  following  couplet, 
however,  is  still  remembered  : 

"  He  is  a  fool  who  thinks  by  force  or  skill 
To  turn  the  current  of  a  woman's  will." 

We  come  now  to  tli<^  chief  of  the  comic  dramatists  of 
the   Restoration,  Williain  Wycherley,   who   was    twenty 
years  old  when  King  Charles  ''  came  to  his  own  again." 
Pope  endows  him   with  the  wit    of  Phiutus,  the  art  of 
Terence,  anl  Menandu's  fire;    but  if  he  excelled  them  in 
humour  and  inventiveness,  he  went  far  beyond  them  m 
obscenity.     His  plays  are  utterly  an  1  absokitely  corrupt, 
not  in  language  only,  but  in  idea  ;  and  he  seems  to  have 
been  incapable  of  conceiving  a  virtuous  character,  or  of 
giving  expression  to  a  pure  thought.     His  men  are  rakes, 
whose  exuberant  animal  spirits  cannot  lead  us  to  condone 
their  incessant  offences  against  decency;  his  women  are 
courtesans,  whose  prurient  charms  are  made  all  the  more 
conspicuous  by  the  flashing  gems   with  which  they  are 
adorned.      If  they  truly  represent  the    society  in   which 
Wycherley  lived,  their   and   his  lU'oper  home  must  have 
been  a  brothel.     He  makes  Lady   Fidget  say,  in  "  The 
Country  Wife,"    "Our   virtue    is    like    the   statesman's 
religion,  the  quaker's  word,  the  gamester's  oath,  and  the 
great  man's  honour  ;  but  to  cheat  those  that  trust  us ;— " 
so  that  Wycherley  must  have   been  unfortunate  in  the 
women  he  knew.     Some  praise  is  at  times  bestowed  on 
his  manliness  ;  but  a  gentleman  may  be  manly  without 
being  profligate  ;  and  it  is  no  sign  of  manliness,  let  us  be 
sure,   to   defame    our    mothers    and    wives   and    sisters. 
Courtesans  and  procuresses  ;   these  are  the  women  who 
blurt  out  his  oaths  and  his   inuendoes.     If  one  of  them 
have   a  turn   for  honesty,   he   gives  her  "the  manners- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


283 


and  the  boldness  of  a  hussar  in  petticoats."  Dryden 
speaks  of 

"  The  satire,  wit,  and  strength  of  manly  Wycherley." 

We  may  concede  the  wit  and  the  strength  and  the  satire  ; 
but  we  must  deny  the  manliness  of  a  writer  who  had  no 
perception  of  the  higher  truths  of  human  life,  and  no 
reverence  for  the  modesty  of  womanhood. 

"Wycherley's  plays,"  says  Macaulay,  "are  said  to 
have  been  the  produce  of  long  and  patient  labour.  The 
epithet  of  '  slow  '  was  early  given  to  him  by  Eochester, 
and  was  frequently  repeated.  In  truth,  his  mind,  unless 
we  are  greatly  mistaken,  was  naturally  a  very  meagre  soil, 
and  was  forced  only  by  great  labour  and  outlay  to  bear 
fruit,  which,  after  all,  was  not  of  the  highest  flavour.  He 
has  scarcely  more  claim  to  originality  than  Terence.  It  is 
not  too  much  to  say  that  there  is  hardly  anything  of  the 
least  value  in  his  plays  of  which  the  hint  is  not  to  be 
found  elsewhere.  .  .  .  The  only  thing  original  about 
Wycherley,  the  only  thing  which  he  could  furnish  from 
his  own  mind  in  inexhaustible  abundance,  was  profligacy. 
It  is  curious  to  observe  how  everything  that  he  touched, 
however  pure  and  noble,  took  in  an  instant  the  colour  of 
his  own  mind.  Compare  Moliere's  Ecole  des  Femmes  with 
the  Country  Wife.  Agnes  is  a  simple  and  amiable  girl, 
whose  heart  is  indeed  full  of  love,  but  of  love  sanctioned 
by  honour,  morality,  and  religion.  Her  natural  talents 
are  great.  They  have  been  hidden,  and,  as  it  might 
appear,  destroyed  by  an  education  elaborately  bad.  But 
they  are  called  forth  into  full  energy  by  a  virtuous 
passion.  Her  lover,  while  he  adores  her  beauty,  is  too 
honest  a  man  to  abuse  the  confiding  tenderness  of  a 
creature   so  charming    and    inexperienced.      Wycherley 


l:l| 


284 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


285 


takes  this  plot  into  liis  hands  ;  and  fortliwith  this  sweet 
and  graceful  courtship  becomes  a  licentious  intrigue  of 
the  lowest  and  least  sentimental  kind,  between  an 
impudent  London  rake  and  the  idiot  wife  of  a  country 
squire.  We  will  not  go  into  details.  In  truth, 
Wjcherley's  indecency  is  protected  against  the  critics 
as  a  skunk  is  protected  against  the  hunters.  It  is  safe, 
because  it  is  too  filthy  to  handle,  and  too  noisome  even 
to  approach.^' 

A  similar  transformation  takes  place  in  "The  Plain 
Dealer."  Moli^re's  Alceste  is  a  man  of  much  nobleness 
and  purity,  who  has  been  soured  into  misanthropy  by  the 
evidences  on  every  side  of  treachery,  hypocrisy,  and 
malevolence.  Wycherley  borrows  him,  and,  in  the  words 
of  Leigh  Hunt,  converts  liim  into  "  a  ferocious  sensualist, 
who  believed  himself  as  great  a  rascal  as  he  thought 
everybody  else."  The  surliness  of  Moliere's  hero  is 
€xaff<^erated  until  it  becomes  a  caricature.  "  But  the 
most  nauseous  libertinism  and  the  most  dastardly  fraud 
are  substituted  for  the  purity  and  integrity  of  the 
original.  And,  to  make  the  whole  complete,  Wycherley 
does  not  seem  to  have  been  aware  that  he  was  not 
drawing  the  portrait  of  an  eminently  honest  man.  So 
depraved  was  his  moral  taste  that,  while  he  firmly 
believed  that  he  was  producing  a  picture  of  virtue  too 
exalted  for  the  commerce  of  this  world,  he  was  really 
delineating  the  greatest  rascal  that  is  to  be  found,  even 
in  his  own  writings." 

William  Wycherley  was  born  in  1640,  at  Clive,  near 
Shrewsbury,  where  his  father,  a  gentleman  of  ancient 
lineage,  had  an  estate  valued  at  some  £600  a  year.  The 
Civil  War  having  established  a  republican  form  of  govern- 


ment and  a  Presbyterian  heirarchy,  the  elder  Wycherley 
would  not  send  his  son  and  heir  to  schools  where  these 
were  advocated,  but  chose  that  he  should  be  educated  in 
Prance.  Por  some  time  he  resided  on  the  banks  of  the 
Charente,  and  enjoyed  the  society  of  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Montausier — the  latter  better  known  as  Julia 
d'Angennes  de  Rambouillet  —  and  in  the  cultured  and 
elegant  circle  that  gathered  round  them  learned  a  good 
deal,  both  of  fashionable  manners  and  morals.  It  was 
natural  enough  in  the  circumstances  that  the  gay  young 
Mlow,  who  at  no  time  cared  anything  about  religion, 
should  relapse  from  Protestantism,  which  he,  of  course, 
associated  with  Puritanism,  into  Eoman  Catholicism. 
And  it  was  equally  natural,  perhaps,  that  when  at  the 
Eestoration  he  returned  to  England,  and  found  that 
Protestantism  at  Court  could  put  on  a  gay  and  smiling 
face,  he  should  return  to  his  father's  religion.  He  became 
a  member  of  Queen's  College,  Oxford,  and  to  Bishop 
.  Barlow  belongs  the  credit,  such  as  it  was,  of  converting 
this  "  good-for-nothing  Papist "  into  a  "  good-for-nothing 
Protestant.'^ 

He  left  the  University  without  taking  a  degree,  and 
entered  at  the  Middle  Temple  ;  but  for  the  dry  study  of 
the  law  he  had  no  taste,  and  he  spent  his  time  in  the 
theatres  and  other  fashionable  places  of  amusement. 
Having  a  turn  for  writing,  he  betook  himself  to  dramatic 
composition,  though  at  first  without  gaining  access  to  the 
stage.  He  afterwards  said  that  he  wrote  his  first  play, 
"  Love  in  a  Wood,"  at  nineteen  ;  "  The  Plain  Dealer  "  at 
twenty-five  ;  and  "  The  Country  Wife  "  at  one  or  two- 
and-thirty ;  but  these  early  dates  were  undoubtedly 
suggested  by  his  vanity.     It  was  in  1672  that  his  "  Love 


286 


THE    MERKT   MONARCH; 


in  a  Wood ;  or,  St.  James's  Park,"  was  produced,  and  the 
internal  evidence   shows   that  it   could  not    have   been 
written  long  before.     Its  success,  aided  by  his  handsome 
face  and  figure,  won  for  the  young  author  the  favour  of 
the  Duchess  of  Cleveland,  and  she  made  him  acquainted 
with  his    "  good   fortune  "    in  a  characteristic  fashion. 
When  driving  in  the  Ring,  she   caught  sight  of  him  in 
a  crowd  of  belles  and  fine  gentlemen,  and  putting  her 
head  out  of  the  coach  window,  shouted,  ''  Sir,  you  are  a 
rascal,  you   are  a  viUain,''   and  added  a  coarse  epithet 
reflecting  on  the  fViir  fame  of  the  mother  who  bore  him. 
On  the  following  day  Wycherley  called  upon  her,   and 
humbly  begged  to  know  how  he  had  been  so  unfortunate 
as  to  ofEend  her.     Thus  began  an  intimacy  which  placed 
Wycherley  within  the  most  private  circle  of  the  Court. 
"  The  partiality  with  which  the  great  lady  regarded  him 
was  indeed  the  talk  of  the  whole  town ;  and  sixty  years 
later  old  men  who  remembered  those  days  told  Voltaire 
that  she  often  stole  from  the  Court  to  her  lover's  chambers 
in  the  Temple,  disguised  like  a  country  girl,  with  a  straw 
hat  on  her  head,  pattens  on  her  feet,  and  a  basket  in  her 

hand." 

The  Duchess  introduced  her  new  favourite  to  Charles, 
who  was  charmed  with  his  address  and  conversation,  and 
distinguished  him  by  special  attentions.  On  one  occasion, 
when  he  was  confined  by  a  fever  to  his  lodgings  in  Bow 
Street,  the  King  good-naturedly  called  upon  him,  sat  by 
his  bed,  and  finding  him  depressed  and  really  ill,  advised 
him  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  South  of  France,  and  gave  him 
£500  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  journey.  Buckingham, 
then  Master  of  the  Horse,  and  one  of  the  Duchess's  para- 
mours, had  at  first  displayed  some  marks  of  jealousy  ;  but 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


287 


he,  too,  was  won  over  by  Wycherley's  manners,  admitted 
him  into  his  friendship,  and  gave  him  a  place  in  the  royal 
household  and  a  commission  in  his  own  regiment.  It  is 
said  that  the  dramatist  in  after  years  solicited  his  patron- 
age for  the  great  author  of  "  Hudibras,"  who  had  fallen 
upon  evil  days,  and  was  sinking  into  obscure  poverty.  The 
Duke  consented  to  see  him,  and  an  appointment  was  made  ; 
but  two  pretty  women  happening  to  pass  by,  the  poet  was 
forgotten,  and  soon  afterwards  died  in  want. 

When  the  second  Dutch  War  broke  out,  Wycherley, 
like  other  young  men  of  fashion,  buckled  on  the  sword. 
As  a  volunteer  he  served  under  Prince  Rupert,  in  1673,  in 
the  naval  campaign  against  De  Euyter,  and,  on  his  return 
home,  celebrated  it  in  some  indifferent  verses.  It  was 
in  this  year  that  he  brought  out  his  second  play,  "  The 
Gentleman  Dancing-Master,"  but  it  failed  to  hit  the  taste 
of  the  town.  Neither  at  the  West  End,  nor  in  Salisbury 
Court,  could  an  audience  be  got  to  receive  it  with  approval. 
This  failure,  however,  was  more  than  compensated  by  the 
brilliant  success,  in  1673,  of  his  ''  Country  Wife  "—partly 
founded  upon  Moliere's  "  L'Ecole  des  Femmes  "  and 
''  L'Ecole  des  Maris."  "Though  one  of  the  most  profligate 
and  heartless  of  human  compositions,  it  is,"  says  Macau- 
lay,  "the  elaborate  production  of  a  mind,  not  indeed  rich, 
original,  or  imaginative,  but  ingenious,  observant,  quick 
to  seize  hints,  and  patient  of  the  toil  of  polishing."  It  is 
a  play  which  one  cannot  read  without  afterwards  becom- 
ing conscious  of  a  nasty  flavour  in  one's  mouth. 

Not  less  immoral,  and  not  less  witty,  was  "  The  Plain 
Dealer,"  which  appeared  in  1677,  the  hero  of  which,  Manly, 
is  represented  as  "of  an  honest,  surly,  nice  humour, 
supposed  first,  in  the  time  of   the  Dutch  war,  to    have 


288 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


procured  the  command    of    a   ship  out    of   honour,  not 
interest,  and  choosing  a  sea  life  only  to  avoid  the  world." 
We  must  suppose,  therefore,  that  this  cynical  and  selfish 
sensualist  is  the  dramatist's  ideal  of  a  true  man.     Ilaz- 
lett's  remark  that  this  play  is  "  a  most  severe  and  piog- 
nant  moral  satire,"    in  which  "  the  truth  of  feeling  and 
the  force  of  interest  prevail  over  every  objection,"  we  are 
unaWe  to  accept  or  appreciate.     It  seems  to  us  rather  the 
kind  of  criticism  upon  Yahoos  that    might    have    been 
written  by  one  of  themselves.    Yet,  through  the  efforts  of 
Lord  Dorset  and  the  critics,  the  play  rose  into  such  favour 
that  its   author  was   commonly  known  as   "The  Plain- 
Dealer,"  or  as  "  Manly  Wycherley,"  and  the  thentre  was 
always  full  when  it  was  set  down  for  representation.     One 
of  the  few  quotable  passages  we  subjoin,  because  it  affords 
a  favourable  speciu.en  of  Wycherley's  "  manly  "  morality 
as  well  of  his  terse  and  epigrammatic  language  :— 

••  Manlu.-TeW  not  me,  my  good  Lord  Plausible,  of  your  decorous,  super- 

•linf   tom=    ind  .lavish  ceremonies  !   your  little  tricks,  winch   you,  the 

;:„Te,so"heworUMo  daily  over  and  over,  for  and  to  one  another;  not 

«,if  nf  love  or  duty,  but  your  eervile  fear. 

l^lX-Na     i'f-th.i-faith,youarc  too  passionate;  and  I  must  beg 
vo^ptdon  and  i^ave  to  tell  you  they  are  the  acts  and  rules  the  prudent  of 

'"'^"v'-L^em.    But  HI  have  no  leading  strings;  I  can  walk  alone. 
Ih^e  a  hamcs  ;  and  will  not  tng  on  in  a  taction,  kissing  my  leader  behmd. 

that  another  may  do  the  "k« '«  ■'-  ^^^^       ^        „„a 

P/aiiS.— What,  will  you  be  singular  men  i  ukc  uuuv^uj 

'TJr^t'ther  than  be  general,  liUe   you,  follow  everybody  ;  court  and 
kisTeTeiTbody  ;  though  perhaps  at  the  san.e  time  you  hate  everybody. 
to--Why,  seriously,  with  your  pardon,  my  dear  fnend- 
Sv  -Wit k  your  pardon,  my  no  friend,  I  will  not  as  you  do,  wh.sper 
™v  hatred  or  my  scorn,  call  a  man  fool  or  knave  by   signs  or  mouths  ove 
r  !htulder    while  you  have  him  in  your  arms.    For  such  as  you    like 
clln  ~         UocUets,  are  only  dangerous  to  those  you  embrace. 
pL  -Such  as  I !     Heavens  defend  me  I  upon  my  honour  - 
Mmiy,-^Von  your  title,  my  lord,  if  you'd  have  me  believe  you. 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


289 


piam. — Well,  then,  as  I  am  a  person  of  honour,  I  never  attempted  to 
abuse  or  lessen  any  person  in  my  life. 

Manly. — What,  you  were  afraid  ? 

Flaus.—^o,  but  seriously,  I  hate  to  do  a  rude  thing  ;  I  speak  well  of  all 
mankind. 

Manly. — I  thought  so,  but  know,  that  speaking  well  of  all  mankind  is 
the  worst  kind  of  detraction  ;  for  it  takes  away  the  reputation  of  the  few 
good  men  in  the  world,  by  making  all  alike.  Now,  I  speak  ill  of  most  men, 
because  they  deserve  it ;  I  that  can  do  a  rude  thing  rather  than  an  unjust 
thing. 

P/ai«.— Well,  tell  not  me,  my  dear  friend,  what  people  deserve  ;  I  ne'er, 
mind  that.  I,  like  an  author  in  a  dedication,  never  speak  well  of  a  man  for 
his  sake,  but  my  own.  I  will  not  disparage  any  man  to  disparage  myself  ; 
for  to  speak  ill  of  people  behind  their  backs  is  not  like  a  man  of  honour 
and  truly  to  speak  ill  of  'em  to  their  faces,  is  not  like  a  complaisant  person  : 
but  if  I  did  say  or  do  an  ill  thing  to  anybody,  it  should  be  behind  their 
backs,  out  of  pure  good  manners. 

Manly. — Very  well,  but  I  that  am  an  unmannerly  sea-fellow,  if  I  ever 
speak  well  of  people — which  is  very  seldom  indeed — it  should  be  sure  to  be 
behind  their  backs  ;  and  if  I  would  say  or  do  ill  to  any,  it  should  be  to  their 
faces.  I  would  jostle  a  proud,  strutting,  over-looking  coxcomb,  at  the  head 
of  his  sycophants,  rather  than  put  out  my  tongue  at  him  when  he  were  past 
me  ;  would  frown  in  the  arrogant,  big,  dull  face  of  an  overgrown  knave  of 
business,  rather  than  vent  my  spleen  against  him  when  his  back  was  turned; 
would  give  fawning  slaves  the  lie  whilst  they  embrace  or  commend  me  ; 
cowards,  whilst  they  brag  ;  call  a  rascal  by  no  other  title,  though  his  father 
had  left  him  a  duke's ;  laugh  at  fools  aloud  afore  their  mistresses  ;  and 
must  desire  people  to  leave  me,  when  their  visits  grow  at  last  as  troublesome 
as  they  were  at  first  impertinent.  [Manly  thrusts  out  Lord  Plausible. 

Freeman.— Yon  are  a  lord  with  very  little  ceremony,  it  seems. 

Manly. A  lord  !  what,  thou  art  one  of  those  who  esteem  men  only  by  the 

marks  and  value  fortune  has  set  upon  'em,  and  never  consider  intrinsic 
worth !  But  counterfeit  honour  will  not  be  current  with  me :  I  weigh  the 
man,  not  his  title ;  'tis  not  the  king's  stamp  can  make  the  metal  better  or 
heavier.  Your  lord  is  a  leaden  shilling,  which  you  bend  any  way,  and  de- 
bases the  stamp  he  bears,  instead  of  being  raised  by  it." 

''  The  Plain-Dealer ''  marks  the  climax  of  Wycherley's 
career.  'Tis  the  summit  of  the  ascent ;  thenceforward  the 
decline  is  rapid  and  complete.  The  king,  desiring  to 
place  his  natural  son,  the  young  Duke  of  Eichmond,  under 
a  man  of  accomplished  manners,  selected  Wycherley, 
though,  to  be  sure,  a  worse  tutor  for  a  youth,  if  manners 


VOL.    I. 


w 


290 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


mean  morals,  could  hardly  have  been  chosen.       Elated 
with  his  good  fortune,  the  wit  betook  himself  for  a  little 
entertainment  to  Tunbridge  Wells,  where,  one  day,  whHe 
turning  over  books  in  a  bookseller's  shop  on  the  Pantiles, 
he  heard  a  rich  and  gay  young  widow,  the  Countess  of 
Drogheda,  inquiring  for  "  The  Plain-Dealer."    "  Madam,'' 
said  a  friend,  who  attended  him,  "  since  you  are  for  the 
Plain-Dealer,  there  he  is  for  you,''  and  pushed  Wycherley 
forward.       The  acquaintance  thus  casually  begun  soon 
ripened  into  an  intimacy,  and  the  intimacy  ended  in  a 
marriage.  It  proved  an  unhappy  one :  the  Countess,  know- 
iug  her  handsome  husband's*  taste  for  gallantries,  watched 
him  as  closely  as  ever,  in  his  own  comedy,  Mr.  Pinchwife 
watched  his  rustic  spouse.     He  was,  indeed,  allowed  to 
meet  his  friends  in  the  Cock  Tavern,  opposite  to  his  house; 
"but  on  such  occasions  the  windows  were  always  open, in 
order  that  her  ladyship,  who  was  posted  on  the  other  side 
of  the  street,  might  be  satisfied  that  no  woman  was  of  the 

party.'' 

The  marriage  had  deprived  him  of  Court  favour,  while 

failing  to  add  to  his  domestic  comfort.  The  Countess,  it 
is  true,  died  early,  and  left  him  her  fortune  ;  but  this  dis- 
position of  it  was  contested  by  her  kith  and  kin,  and  a 
series  of  law  suits  beggared  the  unfortunate  widower, 
and  he  was  thrown  into  the  Fleet,  and  there  he  lingered, 
forgotten  by  his  brilliant  intimates,  for  seven  years ;  when 
a  fortunate  chance  took  James  II.  to  the  theatre  one  night 
when  "The  Plain-Dealer"  was  acted.  He  was  pleased 
with  the  play,  and  remembered  the  author,  whom  a  pen- 
sion of  £200  a  year  rescued  from  the  ignominy  of  a 
prison.    It  was  probably  out  of  gratitude  for  the  royal 

*  Pope  says  he  had  •'  the  true  nobleman  look." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


291 


munificence  that  Wycherley  about  this  time  returned  to 
the  communion  of  the  Church  of  Eome. 

Shortly  after  these  events  Mr.  Wycherley  the  elder 
died,  and  the  dramatist,  a  man  of  fifty,  succeeded  to  the 
family  estates.  Even  then,  his  position  did  not  improve ; 
he  could  not  shake  off  the  black  care  which  rode  behind 
him  so  closely  as  he  went  on  his  downward  way.  His 
property  was  entailed,  and  his  extravagance  added  con- 
tinually to  his  embarrassments.  He  was  on  ill  terms  with 
his  heir-at-law,  who,  therefore,  refused  to  join  in  any 
scheme  for  relieving  Wycherley  at  the  cost  of  his  in- 
heritance .  Macaulay  describes  him  as  leading,  during  a 
long  course  of  years,  *'  that  most  wretched  life,  the  life  of 
a  vicious  old  boy  about  town."  Expensive  tastes  with  little 
money,  and  licentious  appetites  with  declining  vigour, 
were  the  just  penance  for  his  early  irregularities.  A 
severe  illness  had  produced  a  singular  effect  on  his  in- 
tellect. His  memory  played  him  pranks  stranger  than 
almost  any  that  are  to  be  found  in  the  history  of  that 
strange  faculty.  It  seemed  to  be  at  once  preternaturally 
strong  and  preternaturally  weak.  If  a  book  were  read  to 
him  before  he  went  to  bed,  he  would  wake  the  next  morn- 
ing with  his  miud  full  of  the  thoughts  and  expressions 
which  he  had  heard  over  night ;  and  he  would  write  them 
down,  without  in  the  least  suspecting  that  they  were  not 
his  own.  In  his  verses  the  same  ideas,  and  even  the  same 
words,  came  with  tedious  but  unconscious  iteration. 

We  come  now  to  the  female  dramatists  of  the  Restora- 
tion, among  whom  Mrs.  Aplira  Behn  is  unhappily  con- 
spicuous. One  cannot  tell  her  story  without  pain,  because 
it  is  all  that  it  should  not  have  been,  that  Nature  never 
meant  it  to  be.     She  might  have  been  an  honour  to  her 


292 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


293 


sex  by  her  genius ;  her  immodesty  made  her  its  disgrace. 
Women  who  now  blush  with   shame  at  her  discredited 
name  might  have   repeated  it  with  pride.     She  is  not 
forgotten,  simply  because  she  serves  us  as  so  glaring  an 
example  of  high  talents  prostituted  to  disgraceful  uses. 
Against  her  many   offences   we  can   urge  but  one  set- 
off; that  she  was  the  first  to  plead,  and  she  pleaded  it 
with  the  eloquence  of  earnestness,  the  cause  of  the  slave. 
''K  gentlewoman   by  birth,   of  a  good  family  in  the 
city  of  Canterbury,'' "»«•  Aphra  Johnson  was  born  at  Wye 
in  that  city,  in  1640.     She  was  accustomed,  by  a  pleasant 
fiction,  to  describe  herself  as  the  daughter   of  a   Lieu- 
tenant-General  Johnson,  who,  through  the  influence  of 
his  kinsman.  Lord  Willoughby,  was  appointed  Governor 
of  Surinam  and  the  thirty-six  West  Indian  islands.      It 
seems  true  enough  that  in  her  childhood  she  accompanied 
her  family  to   Surinam,  though  not  to  occupy  so  dis- 
tinguished a  position.      Her  previous  talent  had  already 
astonished  the  domestic  circle— she  wrote  "  the  prettiest, 
soft,  engaging  verses  in  the  world  ;  "  and  boy-lovers  had 
fluttered    around    her,    fascinated   by  her   "uncommon 
charms  of  body,  as  well  as  of  mind.''     Her  father  died 
on  the  passage ;  but  his  widow  and  children  remained 
for   some  years   in   Surinam,   of  the  scenery  of    which 
Aphra  afterwards  wrote  with  much  picturesque  fervour : 
"  This  country,"  she  says,  "  affords  all  things,  both  for 
beauty  and  use;  'tis  these  eternal  springs,  always  the 
very  months  of  April,  May,  and  June;  the   shades  are 

*  Such  was  Mrs.  Bebn'a  own  account  of  her  lineage  ;  but  the  Countess  of 
Winchelsea  says  that  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  barber  and  Mr  Edmund 
Go^  has  unearthed  from  the  parochial  reg  ster  of  Wye  the  fact  that 
u  kTf^rs,  the  dauchter,  and  Peter,  the  son  of  John  and  Amy  Johnson, 
wfr^  baptized  at  Wye  on  July  lOth.'  1G40.  (See  Athenc^um,  No.  2,967.  Sept. 
6th,  1884.) 


I 

1 


ri 


perpetual,  the  trees  bearing  at  once  all  degrees  of  leaves 
and  fruits,  from  blooming  buds  to  ripe  autumn ;  groves  of 
oranges,  lemons,  citrons,  figs,  nutmegs,  and  noble  aromatics 
continually  bearing  their  f ragrancies ;  the  trees  appearing 
all  like  nosegays  adorned  with  flowers  of  different  kinds  ; 
some  are  all  white,  some  purple,  some  scarlet,  some  blue, 
some  yellow— bearing  at  the  same  time  ripe  fruit,  and 
blooming  young,  or  producing  every  day  new.  The 
very  wood  of  all  these  trees  has  an  intrinsic  value  above 
common  timber;  for  they  are  often  cut  of  different 
colours,  glorious  to  behold,  and  bear  a  considerable  price 
to  inlay  withal.  Besides  this,  they  yield  rich  balm  and 
gums,  so  that  we  make  our  candles  of  such  an  aromatic 
substance  as  does  not  only  give  a  sufficient  light,  but, 
as  they  burn,  they  cast  their  perfume  all  about." 

Not  less  glowing  is  her  description  of  her  Surinam 
home,  which  was  called  St.  John's  Hill : — 

"  It  stood  on  a  vast  rock  of  white  marble,  at  the  foot 
of  which  the  river  ran,  a  vast  depth  down,  and  not  to 
be  descended  on  that  side ;  the  little  waves,  still  dashing 
and  washing  the  foot  of  this  rock,  made  the  softest 
murmurs  and  purlings  in  the  world,  and  vast  quantities 
of  different  flowers,  eternally  blooming,  and  every  day 
and  hour  new,  fenced  behind  them  with  lofty  trees  of 
a  thousand  rare  forms  and  colours,  that  the  prospect  was 
the  most  ravishing  that  sands  can  create.  On  the 
edge  of  this  white  rock,  towards  the  river,  was  a  walk 
or  grove  of  orange  and  lemon  trees,  about  half  the  length 
of  the  Mall  here,  whose  flowery  and  fruit-bearing  branches 
met  at  the  top,  and  hindered  the  sun,  whose  rays  are  very 
fierce  there,  from  entering  a  beam  into  the  grove ;  and 
the  cool  air  that  came  from  the  river  made  it  not  only  fit 


294 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


to  entertain  people  in  at  all  the  hottest  hours  of  the 
day,  but  refreshed  the  sweet  blossoms,  and  made  it  always 
sweet  and  charming.  And  sure  the  whole  globe  of  the 
world  cannot  show  so  delightful  a  place  as  this  grove 
was;  not  all  the  gardens  of  boasted  Italy  can  produce 
a  shade  so  entire  as  this,  which  Nature  had  joined  with 
art  to  render  so  exceeding  fine ;  and  'tis  a  marvel  to 
see  how  such  vast  trees — as  big  as  English  oaks — could 
take  footing  on  so  solid  a  rock,  and  in  so  little  earth 
as  covered  that  rock.  But  all  things  by  Nature  there 
are  rare,  delightful,  and  wonderful." 

We  suspect  that  Aphra  gives  free  rein  to  her  imagina- 
tion when  she  goes  on  to  describe  the  sports  in  which  she 
at  this  time  indulged ;  such  as  searching  for  young  tigers 
in  their  lairs,  and  daring  the  fury  of  their  enraged  dams. 
She  was  attended  in  her  dangerous  expeditions  by  a 
young  black  slave — named  Ciesar  by  his  master — who 
in  his  own  land  had  been  honoured  as  Prince  Oronooko, 
and  his  melancholy  story  made  a  great  impression  upon 
her.  Eeturning  to  England  soon  after  the  Restoration, 
her  wit  and  beauty  obtained  her  an  introduction  to 
Charles  II.,  and  she  related  to  him  the  tragic  narrative. 
With  all  his  selfishness  Charles  had  gleams  of  generous 
feeling,  and  he  was  so  affected  by  it  that  he  desired 
her  to  make  it  public.  Such  was  the  origin  of  "  Oronooko," 
her  first  and  her  best  novel. 

About  this  time  she  became  acquainted  with  and 
married  a  Mr.  Behn,  a  Dutch  merchant  in  London, 
but  was  soon  left  a  widow.  The  King,  who  recognized 
her  personal  charms  and  mental  gifts,  then  sent  her  to 
Antwerp  to  employ  them  in  the  craft  of  a  political  spy. 
This  she  did  in  the  most  effectual  manner,  establishing 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


295 


such  an  influence  over  an  Antwerp  merchant,  named  Van 
der  Albert,^  who  was  deep  in  the  counsels  of  the  Dutch 
Government,  that  she  was  able  to  communicate  to  Charles 
n.'s  cabinet  De  Euyter's  intention  to  carry  his  fleet  up 
the  Thames.  Unfortunately,  the  English  ministers  refused 
to  credit  the  intelligence,  and  took  no  steps  to  arrest  the 
disaster  that  left  so  deep  a  stain  on  our  naval  renown.  Van 
der  Albert  died  when  about  to  marry  this  fascinating  Eng- 
lishwoman ;  and  she  returned  to  England  to  devote  her  life 
to  pleasure  and  literature.     She  managed  to  find  time  for 
both  pursuits,  though  they  are  not  generally  regarded  as 
compatible  ;  and  because  she  did  so,  failed  to  do  justice  to 
the  powers  she  unquestionably  possessed.      Her  writings 
all  bear  the   mark   of  haste :    but  what   is  worse,  they 
suffer  also  from  the  moral  deterioration  inevitable   from 
the  gay  license  of  her  mode  of  living.     Her  plays  are 
coarser  than  those   of  Wycherley,  without    Wycherley's 
wit;   her  poems  are  lewder  than  those  of  Sedley,  with- 
out Sedley's  art.     Her  career  as  a  dramatist  she  began  in 

*  In  one  of  her  letters  she  gives  an  amusing,  but  probably  fictitious, 
account  of  Van  der  Albert,  and  another  of  her  Dutch  suitors  :—"  Your 
friend  and  humble  servant,"  she  writes,  "  has  set  two  of  them  in  a  blaze ;  two 
of  very  different  ages  (I  was  going  to  say  degrees,  sir,  but  I  remember  there 
are  no  degrees  in  Holland).  Van  der  A^lbert  is  about  thirty-two,  of  a  hale 
constitution,  something  more  sprightly  than  the  rest  of  his  countrymen; 
and  though  infinitely  fond  of  his  interest  and  an  irreconcilable  enemy  to 
Monarchy  bas  by  the  force  of  love  been  obliged  to  let  me  into  some  secrets 
that  might  have  done  our  King,  and,  if  not  our  court,  our  country,  no  small 
service.  But  I  shall  say  no  more  of  this  service  till  I  see  you,  for  particular 
reasons  which  you  shall  then  likewise  know. 

"  My  other  is  about  twice  his  age,  nay,  and  bulk  too,  though  Albert  be  not 
the  most  Barbary  shape  you  have  seen :  you  must  know  him  by  the  name  of 
Von  Bruin.  He  had  not  visited  me  often  before  I  began  to  be  sensible  of  the 
influence  of  my  eyes  on  this  old  piece  of  worm-eaten  touchwood,  but  he  had 
not  the  confidence  (and  that's  much)  to  tell  me  he  loved  me  ;  and  modesty, 
you  know,  is  no  common  fault  of  his  countrymen,  though  I  rather  impute  it 
to  a  love  of  himself,  that  he  would  not  run  the  hazard  of  being  turned  mto 
ridicule  in  so  disproportionate  a  declaration.  He  often  insinuated  that  he 
knew  a  man  of  wealth  and  substance,  though  stricken,  indeed,  in  years,  and 
on  that  account  not  so  agreeable  as  a  younger  man,  that  was  passionately  in 
love  with  me,  and  desired  to  know  whether  my  heart  was  so  far  engaged  that 
his  friend  should  not  entertain  any  hopes." 


296 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


1671,  and  wrote  in  all  eighteen  plays,  namely: — "The 
Forced  Marriage,"  1671;  "The  Amorous  Prince,"  1671; 
"The  Dutch  Lover,"  1673;  "  Adelazar,"  1677;  "The 
Town  Fop,"  1677;  "The  Eover;  or.  The  Banished 
Cavalier,"  her  best  and  most  popular  comedy,  1677; 
"The  Debauchee,"  1677;  "Sir  Patient  Fancy,"  1678; 
"The  Feigned  Courtezans,"  dedicated  to  Nell  Gwjnn, 
1679;  "The  Rover,"  a  second  part,  1681;  "The  City 
Heiress,"  1682;  "The  Roundheads,"  1682;  "The  Young 
King,"  1683 ;  "  The  Lucky  Chance,"  1687  ;  "  The  Emperor 
of  the  Moon,"  1687;  "The  Widow  Ranter,"  1690;  "The 
Younger  Brother,"  1696.  Their  general  coarseness  is  in- 
dicated by  Pope's  well-known  allusion  — 

"  The  stage  how  loosely  does  Astraea  tread  " — 

Astraea  being  the  name  by  which  she  loved  to  call 
herself,  and  to  have  her  friends  call  her.  It  might  be 
pleaded  that  she  wrote  to  suit  the  taste  of  the  time; 
but  this  is  only  partly  true,  for  she  continued  to  wallow 
in  filth  long  after  her  audiences  had  grown  tired  of 
so  much  garbage;  and  if  it  be  said  that  she  reflected 
the  manners  of  the  age,  our  reply  must  be  that  she 
reflected  the  manners  only  of  a  certain  class  of  men  and 
women,  who  had  much  better  have  been  left  in  oblivion. 
Her  liveliness  is  undeniable;  not  one  of  her  plays  can 
be  characterised  as  dull,  but  then  very  few  of  them  are 
original.  Mrs.  Behn  was  a  bold  and  consummate  pilferer ; 
she  stole  from  Wilkins  and  Marlowe,  from  Shirley  and 
Xilligrew,  from  the  French  and  Italian  comedies;  but 
she  made  excellent  use  of  what  she  stole,  and  many 
scenes  occur  in  her  plays  which  could  not  fail  on  the 
stage  to  excite  amusement. 
The  guilt  of  prurient  suggestion    and  indelicate  ex- 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


297 


pression  attends  her  in  her  poems,  of  which  she  published 
a  volume  in  1684 ;  and  in  the  following  year  a  Miscellany, 
including  several  by  Rochester  and  other  writers.     She 
also    wrote    some   entertaining    model   love-letters,   and 
translated  the   "Maxims"   of    Eochefoucauld,    and  the 
"Plurality    of    Worlds"    of    Fontenelle.      Eight   short 
novels  proceeded  from  her  pen,  of  which  we  have  already 
named  the  best,   "  Oronooko."     All   this   literary  effort 
was  comprised  within  1671  and  1689,  the  year  in  which 
she  died,   at  the  comparatively   early  age  of  47.     Thus, 
in  point  of  industry  and  versatility,  as  well  as  in  point 
of  intellectual   capacity,   she   ranks   among   the  first   of 
English  female  writers ;  and  it  is  deeply  to  be  regretted 
that  she  gave  so  little  conscientious    care  to  her  work, 
that  she  condescended  to  a  coarseness  and  a  freedom  which 
prevent  the   pure-minded   of  her  own  sex  from  making 
acquaintance  with  it.     True  it  is  that  in  her  time  their 
faults  were  not  seen  so  clearly  as   they   are  at  present. 
An  old  lady   of  family   assured   Sir  Walter  Scott  that, 
in    her    younger    days,   "Mrs.    Behn's    novels   were   as 
currently  upon  the  toilette,  as  the  works  of  Miss  Edge- 
worth  at  present ;  and  described  with  some  humour  her 
own  surprise  when  the  book  falling  into  her  hands  after  a 
long  interval  of  years,  and  when  its  contents  were  quite 
forgotten,  she  found  it  impossible  to  endure  at  the  age  of 
fourscore   what  at  fifteen   she,   like   all  the  fashionable 
world  of  the  time,  had  perused  without  an  idea  of  im- 
propriety.''     But  this  applies  only  to  her  novels,  which, 
unpleasant  as  they  sometimes  are,  rise  above  her  plays  in 
unquestionable  superiority. 

"  Oronooko ;  or,  the  Eoyal  Slave,"  merits  consideration 
as  the  first  English  novel  with  a  purpose,  and  the  first 


298 


THE    MERBT   MONARCH  J 


public  indictment  against  slavery.  In  both  respects  it  is 
a  book  of  some  value  and  of  high  interest.  Written  in  a 
clear  and  forcible  style,  it  is  informed  by  a  noble  generosity 
of  sentiment,  while  its  fresh  and  picturesque  descriptions 
indicate  a  real  living  sympathy  with  nature.  It  is  the 
book  of  a  strong  mind — of  a  mind  which,  better  trained, 
and  schooled  by  study  and  observation,  might  have  pro- 
duced something  much  worthier  of  its  strength. 

^^The  King  of  Coromantion,"  begins  the  romancist, 
"  was  of  himself  a  man  of  a  hundred  and  odd  years  old, 
and  had  no  son,  though  he  had  many  beautiful  black 
slaves ;  for  most  certainly  there  are  beauties  that  can 
claim  of  that  colour.  In  his  younger  years  he  had  many 
gaUant  men,  too — his  sons,  thirteen  of  whom  died  in 
battle,  conquering  when  they  fell;  and  he  had  only  left 
him  for  his  successor,  one  grandchild,  son  of  one  of  those 
dead  victors,  who,  as  soon  as  he  could  bear  a  bow  in  his 
hand  and  a  quiver  at  his  back,  was  sent  into  the  field  to 
be  trained  up  by  one  of  the  oldest  generals  to  war,  where, 
from  his  natural  inclination  to  arms  and  the  occasions 
given  him,  with  the  good  conduct  of  the  old  general,  he 
became,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  one  of  the  most  expert 
captains  and  bravest  soldiers  that  ever  saw  the  field  of 
Mars."  At  the  end  of  the  war  the  Prince  visited  the 
Court,  from  which  he  had  been  absent  eleven  years ;  "  and 
'twas  amazing  to  imagine  where  it  was  he  learned  so  much 
humanity,  or,  to  give  his  accomplishments  a  juster  name, 
where  'twas  he  got  that  real  greatness  of  soul,  those  re- 
fined notions  of  true  honour,  that  absolute  generosity,  and 
that  softness  that  was  capable  of  the  highest  passions  of 
love  and  gallantry,  whose  objects  were  almost  continually 
fighting  men,  or  those  mangled  or  dead,  who  heard  no- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


299 


sounds  but  those  of  war  and  groans.  Some  part  of  it  we 
may  attribute  to  the  care  of  a  Frenchman  of  wit  and  learn- 
ino",  who,  finding  it  turn  to  a  very  good  account  to  be  a 
sort  of  royal  tutor  to  this  young  black,  and  perceiving 
him  very  ready,  apt,  and  quick  of  apprehension,  took  a 
great  pleasure  to  teach  him  morals,  language  and  science, 
and  was  for  it  extremely  beloved  and  valued  by  him. 
Another  reason  was,  he  loved,  when  he  came  from  war,  to 
see  all  the  English  gentlemen  that  traded  thither ;  and  did 
not  only  learn  their  language,  but  that  of  the  Spaniards 
also,  with  whom  he  traded  afterwards  for  slaves." 

"  I  have  often  seen  and  conversed  with  this  great  man, 
and  bear  witness  to  many  of  his  mighty  actions,  and  do 
assure  my  reader  the  most  illustrious  Courts  could  not 
have  produced  a  braver  man,  both  for  greatness  of  courage 
and  mind ;  a  judgment  more  solid,  or  wit  more  quick,  and 
a  conversation  more  quick  and  diverting.  He  knew 
almost  as  much  as  if  he  had  read  much  ;  he  had  heard  of 
the  late  civil  wars  in  England,  and  the  deplorable  death 
of  our  great  monarch,  and  would  discourse  of  it  with  all 
the  sense  and  abhorrence  of  the  injustice  imaginable.  He 
had  an  extremely  good  and  graceful  mien,  and  all  the 
civility  of  a  well-bred,  great  man.  He  had  nothing  of 
barbarity  in  his  nature,  but  in  all  points  addressed  himself 
as  if  his  education  had  been  in  some  European  Court." 

A  glowing  portrait  is  drawn  of  the  young  Oronooko's 
physical  graces : — 

"  He  was  pretty  tall,  but  of  a  shape  the  most  exact  that 
can  be  fancied— the  most  famous  statuary  could  not  form 
the  figure  of  a  man  more  admirably  turned  from  head  to 
foot.  His  face  were  not  of  that  brown,  rusty  black  which 
most  of  that  nation  are,  but  of  a  perfect  ebony,  or  polished 


300 


THE   MERRY  MONARCH; 


jet.  His  ejes  were  the  most  awful  that  could  be  seen 
-and  very  piercing ;  the  white  of  them  being  like  snow,  as 
were  his  teeth.  His  nose  was  rising  and  Roman,  instead 
of  African  and  flat;  his  mouth,  the  finest-shaped  that 
could  be  seen — free  from  those  great  turned  lips  which  are 
so  natural  to  the  rest  of  the  negroes.  The  whole  propor- 
tion and  air  of  his  face  was  so  noble  and  exactly  formed, 
that,  bating  his  colour,  there  would  be  nothing  in  nature 
more  beautiful,  agreeable,  and  handsome.  There  was  no 
one  grace  wanting  that  bears  the  standard  of  true  beauty. 
His  hair  came  down  to  his  shoulders,  by  the  aid  of  art, 
which  was  by  pulling  it  out  with  a  quill,  and  keeping  it 
combed,  of  which  he  took  particular  care." 

As  the  body,  so  the  mind  : — 

"  Nor  did  the  perfections  of  his  mind  come  short  of  those 
of  his  person,  for  his  discourse  was  admirable  upon  almost 
any  subject,  and  whoever  had  heard  him  speak  would  have 
been  convinced  of  their  errors,  that  all  fine  wit  is  confined 
to  the  white  man,  especially  to  those  of  Christendom,  and 
would  have  confessed  that  Oronooko  was  as  capable  even 
of  reigning  well,  and  of  governing  as  wisely,  had  as  great 
a  soul,  as  politics  maxims,  and  was  as  sensible  of  power 
as  any  prince  civilized  in  the  most  refined  schools  of 
humanity,  or  the  most  illustrious  courts." 

With  Imoinda,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  a  general  who 
has  died  in  saving  Oronooko's  life  in  battle,  this  perfect 
young  prince  falls  in  love ;  but  his  grandfather,  who  is 
also  in  love  with  Imoinda,  on  discovering  that  she  pre- 
fers her  youthful  suitor,  sells  her  into  slavery.  Soon 
afterwards  Oronooko  himself  is  kidnapped,  with  a  hun- 
dred young  blacks,  by  an  English  trader.  In  his  rage  and 
despair  he  resolves  to  starve  himself;  but  is  induced  to 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


301 


i 


take  his  food  by  the  captain's  solemn  promise  to  set  him 
and  his  companions  at  liberty  as  soon  as  they  reach  the 
land.  They  arrive  at  Surinam,  and,  of  course,  the  captain 
breaks  his  word.     He  is  sold  in  the  public  mart,  and  pur- 
chased by  a  Cornish  gentleman  named  Trefry,  who  names 
him  Csesar,  treats  him  with  much  humanity,  and  takes  him 
to  see  a  beautiful  black  girl,  who  proves  to  be  no  other 
than  Imoinda,  under  the  new  name  of  Clemone.     With 
Mr.  Trefry' s  sanction  the  two  slaves  are  married,  and  for 
a  while  live  in  much  happiness   and   contentment.     By 
degrees,  the  despair  of  recovering  his  liberty  begets  in 
Oronooko  a  sullen  and  gloomy  mood,  which,  as  he  has 
great  influence  over  the  minds  of  the  other  slaves,  wakens 
apprehensions  of  danger,  and  Mrs.  Behn  is  requested  to 
intervene.     It  was  known,  she  says,  that  he  and  Clemone 
were  scarce  absent  an  hour  in  a  day  from  her  lodgings ; 
that  she  showed  them  all  the  kindness  in  her  power.    She 
rivetted  his  attention  with  stories  of  the  heroes  of  anti- 
quity, while  she   taught   his  wife    all  the  pretty  works 
she  was  mistress  of,   and  endeavoured  to  communicate 
to  her  some  knowledge  of  Christianity.    Her  arguments 
and  remonstrances  wrung   from  him   a  pledge   that  he 
would  make  no  immediate   effort  to   escape,   though  it 
was   given   with  an   air   of  impatience   and   reluctance 
that  convinced  her    he  would   not  tarry  much  longer 
in  bondage.      "He  had  a  spirit  all  rough   and  fierce, 
and  that  could  not  be  tamed  by  lazy  rest;  and  though 
*  all  endeavours  were   used   to    exercise  himself  in  such 
actions   and   sports  as  this  world  afforded,  as  running, 
wrestling,  pitching  the  bar,  hunting  and  fishing,  chasing 
and  killing  tigers  of  a  monstrous  size,  which  this  Continent 
affords   in   abundance,   and   wonderful  snakes,  such  as 


302 


THE   MEREY   MONAECH  J 


Alexander  is  reported  to  have  encountered  at  the  river  of 
Amazons,  and  which  Caesar  took  great  delight  to  overcome 
— ^yet  these  were  not  actions  great  enough  for  his  large 
soul,   which    was    still    panting    after    more    renowned 

actions." 

His  patience  gave  way  at  last;  with  his  wife  and 
numerous  slaves,  he  fled  to  the  woods ;  was  overtaken  by 
six  hundred  whites,  headed  by  a  wretch  named  Byam ; 
and,  after  a  desperate  struggle,  in  which  Imoinda 
fought  gallantly  by  his  side,  was  deserted  by  his  com- 
panions, and  forced  to  surrender.  He  was  whipped  im- 
mediately, in  the  savagest  manner,  but  endured  his  suffer- 
ings in  heroic  silence.  Indian  pepper  was  rubbed  into  his 
wounds,  and  his  legs  and  arms  were  loaded  with  fetters. 
Mrs.  Behn  found  him  in  this  miserable  condition ;  ordered 
him  to  be  put  at  once  into  a  healing  bath,  so  as  to  cleanse 
liis  wounds  of  the  irritating  pepper,  and  directed  the 
chirurgeon  to  anoint  him  with  a  healing  balm.  In  a  short 
time  he  partially  recovered.  Thenceforward,  however,  he 
was  a  changed  man ;  he  lived  only  for  one  object,  and 
that  was  to  avenge  the  indignity  which  had  been  put  upon 
him.  It  was  the  shame,  not  the  pain  of  the  lash,  which 
had  penetrated  like  an  iron  to  his  soul.  His  first  care 
was  to  deliver  his  wife  and  her  unborn  babe  from  the 
cruelty  of  the  white  men,  and  in  effecting  this,  he  dis- 
played the  cold,  stem  fortitude  of  the  old  Eoman  hero. 

"  Being  able  to  walk,  and,  as  he  believed,  fit  for  the 
execution  of  his  great  design,  he  begged  Tref  ry  to  trust  him 
into  the  air,  believing  a  walk  would  do  him  good,  which 
was  granted  him ;  and  taking  Imoinda  with  him,  as  he 
used  to  do  in  his  more  happy  and  calmer  days,  he  led  her 
up  into  a  wood,  where  (after  a  thousand  sighs  and  long 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


303 


gazing  silently  on  her  face,  while  tears  gushed  in  spite  of 
him  from  his  eyes),  he  told  her  his  design  :  first,  of  killing 
her,  and  then  his  enemies,  and  next  himself,  and  the  im- 
possibility of  escaping,  and  therefore  he  told  her  the  neces- 
sity of  dying.  He  found  the  heroic  wife  faster  pleading 
for  death  than  he  was  to  propose  it,  when  she  found  his 
fixed  resolution,  and,  on  her  knees,  besought  him  not  to 
leave  her  a  prey  to  his  enemies.  He  grieved  to  death, 
yet,  pleased  at  her  noble  resolution,  took  her  up,  and, 
embracing  her  with  all  the  passion  and  languishment  of  a 
dying  lover,  drew  his  knife  to  kill  this  treasure  of  his  soul, 
this  pleasure  of  his  eyes ;  while  tears  trickled  down  his 
cheeks,  hers  were  smiling  with  joy  she  should  die  by  so 
noble  a  hand,  and  be  sent  into  her  own  country  (for  that 
is  their  notion  of  the  next  world)  by  him  she  so  tenderly 

loved  in  this." 

The  fatal  stroke  is  no  sooner  delivered  than  the  un- 
happy Oronooko  repents  it ;  and  his  great  grief  absorbs 
his  lono-ino-  for  revenue.  He  throws  himself  down  by  the 
side  of  the  dead  body  of  the  wife  he  had  so  tenderly  loved, 
and  lies  there,  growing  weaker  every  day  until  he  is  dis- 
covered, and  falls  again  into  the  cruel  hands  of  his  ene- 
mies. 

"  The  English,  taking  advantage  by  his  weakness,  cried 
out,  '  Let  us  take  him  alive  by  all  means.'  He  heard  'em, 
and,  as  if  he  had  revived  from  a  fainting  or  a  dream,  he 
cried  out,  '  No,  gentlemen,  you  are  deceived  ;  you  will  find 
no  more  Casars  to  be  whipped ;  no  more  find  a  faith  in 
me ;  feeble  as  you  think  me,  I  have  strength  yet  left  to 
secure  me  from  a  second  indignity.' 

"They  swear  all  anew,  and  he  only  shook  his  head,  and 
beheld  them  with  scorn.     Then  they  cried  out,  '  Who  will 


304 


THE    MERRY  MONARCH; 


venture  on  this  single  man?     Will  nobody?'    They  all 
stood  silent,  while  Csesar  replied  — 

" '  Fatal  will  be  the  attempt  of  the  first  adventurer,  let 
Mm  assure  himself  (and,  at  that  word,  held  up  his  knife 
in  a  menacing  posture) :  'look  ye,  ye  faithless  crew,*  said 
he,  '  'tis  not  my  life  I  seek,  nor  am  I  afraid  of  dying '  (and 
at  that  word,  cut  a  piece  of  flesh  from  his  own  throat  and 
threw  it  at  'em) ;  '  yet  still  T  would  live,  if  I  could,  till  I 
had  perfected  my  revenge ;  but,  oh,  it  cannot  be  !  I  feel 
life  gliding  from  my  eyes  and  heart ;  and  if  I  make  not 
haste,  I  shall  fall  a  victim  to  the  shameful  whip.'  " 

He  inflicted  on  himself  a  fearful  and  a  mortal  wound, 
but  was  captured,  carried  back,  and  received  such  attention 
as  recovered  him  sufficiently  to  suffer  a  slow  and  cruel  death. 
He  endured  the  tortures  which  his  persecutors  heaped  upon 
him,  without  flinching,  and  an  heroic  life  ended  fitly  with 

an  heroic  death. 

Such  is  the  touching  story  of  Oronooko,  which  Southern 
afterwards  cast  into  a  dramatic  form.  How  much  of  it 
was  fact,  how  much  sprang  from  Mrs.  Behn's  lively 
imagination,  it  is  impossible  to  say  ;  but  what  is  certain 
is  that  she  has  told  it  in  a  very  effective  and  striking 
fashion,  with  genuine  earnestness  and  generosity  of  spirit, 
and,  in  telling  it,  has  risen  out  of  that  atmosphere  of 
worldliness  and  sensual   pleasure  which  did  her  genius 

such  cruel  wrong. 

Her  poetical  compositions,  among  other  grave  faults, 
have  that  of  artificiality.    One  of  the  best  is  the  follow- 


mg:- 


"  The  grove  was  gloomy  all  around, 
Murmuring  the  stream  did  pass, 

Where  fond  Astrsea  laid  her  down 
Upon  a  bed  of  grass ; 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.         305 

I  slept  and  saw  a  piteous  sight, 

Cupid  a- weeping  lay, 
Till  both  his  little  stars  of  light 

Had  wept  themselves  away. 
Methought  I  asked  him  why  he  cried  ; 

My  pity  led  me  on, — 
All  sighing  the  sad  boy  replied, 

'  Alas  !  I  am  undone  ! 
As  I  beneath  yon  myrtles  lay, 

Down  by  Diana's  springs, 
Amyntas  stole  my  bow  away, 

And  pinioned  both  my  wings.' 

*  Alas ! '  I  cried,  *  *twas  then  thy  darts 

Wherewith  he  wounded  me  ? 
Thou  mighty  deity  of  hearts. 

He  stole  his  power  from  thee  ? 
Kevenge  thee,  if  a  god  thou  be, 

Upon  the  amorous  swain, 
I'll  set  thy  wings  at  liberty, 

And  thou  shalt  fly  again ; 
And  for  this  service  on  my  part, 

All  I  demand  of  thee. 
Is,  wound  Amyntas'  cruel  heart 

And  make  him  die  for  me.' 
His  silken  fetters  I  untied, 

And  those  gay  wings  displayed, 
Which  gently  fanned,  he  mounting  cried, 

'  Farewell,  fond  easy  maid! ' 
At  this  I  blushed,  and  angry  grew 

I  should  a  god  believe. 
And  waking  found  my  dream  too  true, 

For  I  was  still  a  slave." 

We  are  hardly  justified  in  including  Mrs.  Katherine 
Phillips,  "  the  matchless  Orinda,"  as  her  contemporaries 
were  pleased  to  call  her,  among  the  female  Dramatists  on 
the  strength  of  her  translations  of  "  Le  Pompee  "  and 
"Les  Horaces  "  of  Corneille.  But  she  is  a  woman  who  has 
claims  not  to  be  overlooked — was  she  not  Jeremy  Taylor's 
friend,  to  whom  our  English  Chrysostom  dedicated  his 
"Treatise  on  Friendship "?— and,  therefore,  we  find  a 
corner  for  her  in  these  pages.     She  was  born  in  1633,  and 

VOL.   I.  X 


l^'iSSPlf-'i 


306 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


died  in  1664,  four  years  after  ''the  glorious  Eestoration." 
A  brief  but  beautiful  life,  brightened  by  purity,  culture, 
domestic  peace,  and  all  the  womanly  graces.  Marrying 
a  gentleman  whom  she  devotedly  loved,  she  retired 
from  the  Court  of  which  she  was  well  fitted  to  have  been 
an  ornament,  to  live  with  him  and  her  children  among 
the  "  sylvan  solitudes  "  of  Wales.  The  talents  which  de- 
lighted and  astonished  her  contemporaries  she  exhibited 
at  a  very  early  age.  Aubrey  tells  us  that  she  was  very 
apt  to  learn,  and  made  verses  when  she  was  at  school; 
that  she  devoted  herself  while  still  in  her  girlhood  to 
religious  duties,  and  would  read  and  pray  by  herself  an 
hour  together.  She  read  the  Bible  through  before  she 
was  four  years  old;  could  repeat  many  chapters  and 
passages  of  Scripture  ;  and  was  a  frequent  hearer  of 
sermons,  which  she  would  bring  away  entire  in  her 
memory,  and  would  take  down  verbatim  when  she  was 
ten  years  old.  Who  will  wonder  that  of  such  a  prodigy 
Nicholas  Eowe  should  write  — 

**  Orinda  came, 
To  ages  yet  to  come  an  ever-glorious  name  "  ? 

Alas,  to  this  present  age,  nomen  et  prceterea  nihil'— or 
rather,  the  shadow  of  a  name.  None  but  the  student 
now  troubles  himself  about  the  accomplished  lady  whom 
Dryden  and  Cowley,  Eoscommon  and  Orrery  combined  to 

praise. 

We  add,  however,  a  few  biographical  details. 

The  daughter  of  John  Fowler,  a  London  merchant, 
she  was  educated  at  a  Hackney  boarding-school,  where 
her  skill  in  poetry  distinguished  her  above  her  com- 
panions. Afterwards  she  became  "  a  perfect  mistress  ''  of 
the  French  tongue,  and  was  taught  the  Italian  by  her 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


307 


ingenious  friend,  Sir  Charles  Cotterel.     Bred  up  in  the 
tenets  of  Presbyterianism,  she  abandoned  them  as  soon 
as  she  could  examine  and  judge  for  herself.    She  married, 
when  little  more  than  sixteen,    James   Phillips,    of   the 
Priory  of  Cardigan,  Esquire,  by  whom  she  had  a  son  and 
daughter.    She  proved  in  all  respects  an  admirable  wife, — 
particularly  by  the    assistance    she   afforded   him  in  his 
affairs,  which,  ''  being  greatly  incumbered,"  she,  by  her 
powerful  influence  with  Sir  Charles  Cotterel,  and  other 
great  friends,  and  by  her  good  sense  and  excellent  manage- 
ment, reduced  to  order.     To  amuse  her  leisure  she  com- 
posed many  poetical  pieces,  which,  being  scattered  abroad 
among  her   friends    and   acquaintances,    were   collected 
together  by  an  unknown  hand,  and  published  in  1663, — 
an  ungenerous  treatment  which  so  affected  her  as  to  in- 
duce a  severe  attack  of  illness.  "  Her  remarkable  humility, 
good-nature,  and  agreeable  conversation  greatly  endeared 
her  to  all  her  acquaintance ;  and  her  polite  and  elegant 
writings  procured  her  the  friendship  and  correspondence 
of  many  learned  and  eminent  men.     On   her    going   to 
Ireland  with   the    Viscountess    Dungannon    to   transact 
her  husband's  affairs  there,  her  great  merit  soon  recom- 
mended her   to   the   regard   of   those   illustrious   peers, 
Ormond,  Orrery,  Roscommon,  and  many  other  persons  of 
distinction,  who  showed  her  singular  marks  of  esteem  ;  and 
at  the  pressing  instances  of  those  noblemen,  particularly 
Lord    Roscommon,    she    translated   from  the  French   of 
Corneille,  into  English,  the  tragedy  of  Pompey,  which  was 
acted  on  the  Irish  stage  several  times  with  great  applause 
in  1663  and  '64.     It  was  likewise  afterwards  acted  very 
successfully  at  the  Duke  of  York's  theatre  in  1678.     She 
also  translated  from  the  French  of  Corneille  the  tragedy 


308 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


of  Horace.     Sir  John  Denliam  added  a  fifth  act  to  the 
play,   which  was   represented   at    Court   by   persons  of 

quality." 

While  in  Ireland  she  renewed  a  former  intimacy  with 
Bishop  Jeremy  Taylor,  who  had  already  honoured  her  by 
composing  and  publishing  "  A  Discourse  of  the  Nature, 
Offices,  and  Measures  of  Friendship,  with  Eules  of  Con- 
ducting it.  In  a  Letter  to  the  most  ingenious  and  excel- 
lent Mrs.  Katherine  Phillips." 

Mrs.  Phillips,  while  on  a  visit  to  her  friends  in  London, 
was  seized  with  small-pox,  and  died  of  it  at  her  lodgin-s 
in  Fleet  Street.*     She  was  buried  in  the  church  of  St. 

Bennet  Sherehog. 

In  1667,  a  friend  edited  and  published,  in  folio,  ''  Poem- 
by  the  most  deservedly  admired  Mrs.  Katherine  Phillips 
the  matchless  Orinda.     To  which  are  added  M.  Corneill.'s 
Pompey  and  Horace,  Tragedies,  with  several  other  Trans- 
lations from  the  French;  and  her  Picture  before  them, 
engraved  by  Faithorne."     A  second  edition  appeared  in 
1678,  in  the  preface  to  which  it  was  stated  that  Orinda 
wrote  her  familiar  letters  with  good  facility,  in  a  very  fair 
hand,  and  perfect  orthograpliy;  and  that  "if  they  were 
collected  with   those    excellent   discourses  she  wrote  on 
several  subjects,  they  would  make  a  volume  niucli  larger 
than  that  of  her  Poems."     In  1705  a  small  volume  of  her 
letters  to  Sir  Charles  Cotterel  was  published,  under  tlie 
title  of  "  Letters  from  Orinda  to  Poliarchus."     The  editor 
is  good  enough  to  describe   them    as    "  the   efPect    of  a 

*  Mrs.  Anne  KilH.i?i  11  a  victim  to  the  same  disease.     In  bis  Elegy 

to  her  memory  Drjdeu  nay  a  : — 

**  But  thus  Orinda  died  : 
Heaven,  b.v  the  same  disease,  did  both  translate  ; 
As  equal  \vere  their  souls,  so  equal  was  their  fate.'' 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


309 


ihappy  intimacy   between   herself   and  the   late  famous 
Poliarchus/'    the   platonic  nom  de  plume   by   which   Sir 
Charles  elected  to  be  addressed ;  and  to  praise  them  as 
^'an  admirable  pattern  for  the  pleasing  correspondence  of 
a  virtuous  friendship  !  "    He  adds,  with  amusing  compla- 
cency, that  "  they  will  sufficiently  instruct  us  how  an  inter- 
course of  writing,  between  two  persons  of  different  sexes, 
ought  to  be  managed  with  delight  and  innocence."   There 
is  no  doubt  about  their  innocence ;  but  their  frigid  affecta- 
tions and  formal  commonplaces  lead  us  to  wonder  how  it 
was  that  "  the  matchless  Orinda  "  obtained  so  high  a  re- 
putation among  wits  and  critics  who  certainly  were  fully 
competent  to  judge.     We  suppose  there  was  a  charm  in 
her  conversation  which  she  failed  to  communicate  to  her 
correspondence,  and   that  in   criticising   the   latter  her 
partial  judges  were  biased  by  their  recollections  of  the 

former. 

The  complimentary  verses  prefixed  to  her  collected 
Poems  show,  however,  that  the  writers  were  at  least  as 
much  influenced  by  their  respect  for  her  morals  as  by 
their  admiration  of  her  talents.  They  dwell  quite  as 
warmly  on  her  "  hate  of  vice  and  scorn  of  vanities  "  as  on 
her  taste  and  skill  as  a  maker  of  smooth  rhymes.  And  it 
is  this  which  is  really  the  salt  and  savour  of  her  poems. 
They  reflect  "the  tender  goodness  of  her  mind,"  but 
nowhere  is  the  reader  conscious  of  a  breath  of  true 
poetical  inspiration.  Their  subjects  are  just  those  which 
would  recommend  themselves  to  an  amiable  and  accom- 
plished woman— poems  to  her  friends  ("  Lucasia,"  Lady 
Dungannon,  and  "Eosania,"  Mistress  Eegina  CoUier)  ; 
affectionate  stanzas  to  her  husband ;  occasional  verses 
suggested  by  the  marriages  and  deaths  of  her  relatives  and 


310 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH. 


intimates ;  and  some  feeble  praises  of  the  Welsh  language 
and  country  life.  Perhaps  the  most  wonderful  thing  is  a 
kindly  epitaph  on  her  mother-in-law — the  only  mother-in- 
law,  perhaps,  who  ever  received  a  public  tribute !  As  a 
specimen  of  the  general  quality  of  Orinda's  compositions 
we  take  the  last  lines  of  her  memorial  to  her  eldest  son,. 
who  died  in  his  13th  year : — 

"  Alas !  we  were  secure  of  our  content ; 
But  find  too  late  that  it  was  only  lent 
To  be  a  mirror,  wherein  we  may  see 
How  frail  we  are,  how  spotless  we  should  be. 
But  if  to  thy  blest  soul  my  grief  appears, 
Forgive  and  pity  these  injurious  tears ; 
Impute  them  to  Affection's  sad  excess, 
Vfhich  will  not  yield  to  Nature's  tenderness. 
Since  'twas  through  dearest  ties  and  highest  trust 
Continued  from  thy  cradle  to  thy  dust ; 
And  so  rewarded  and  confirmed  by  thine, 
That  (wo  is  me  !  )  I  thought  thee  too  much  mine.'' 


THE   DUCHESSES. 


Cleveland. 
Portsmouth. 


ElCHMOND. 

Mazarin. 


1^ 


CHAPTER    IV. 


THE        DUCHESSES. 


Cleveland — Portsmouth — Eichmond — Mizarin. 


An  acute  Frencli  critic  comments  upon  the  strong  con- 
trast presented  by  the  libertinism  of  England  under  the 
Restoration  to  the  libertinism  of  Prance ;  the  former 
being  as  hard,  forced,  and  brutal,  as  the  latter  was  grace- 
ful, gay,  and  natural.  The  contrast  unquestionably  ex- 
isted, and  was  due,  I  think,  to  a  fact  not  discreditable  to 
our  country — that  libertinism  as  a  trade  was  uncongenial 
to  the  English  character ;  and  that,  therefore,  the  courtier 
and  the  gallant  who  embarked  in  it  rushed  to  an  extreme 
because  they  were  playing  a  part  to  which  their  associa- 
tions had  not  accustomed  them.  Such,  no  doubt,  was  the 
case  with  the  women  of  fashion  and  society.  It  had 
never  been  the  custom  of  English  gentlewomen  to  aban- 
don themselves  to  the  public  profession  of  immorality; 
and  when,  under  the  evil  influence  of  a  licentious  Court, 
they  disregarded  their  old  sweet  traditions  of  purity  and 
simplicity,  the  very  reaction  drove  them  into  an  attitude 
of  revolt  against  all  virtue.  Louis  XIV.  had  his  mis- 
tresses like  Charles  II.,  but  over  his  illicit  connections 


314 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


was  thrown  a  certain  air  of  dignity,  and  even  of  romance, 
so  that  modest  maidens  read  the  story  of  La  Valliere 
almost  without  a  blush.  But  the  mistresses  of  Charles  II. 
behaved  like  street  harlots;  were  as  lewd  in  their 
manners,  as  coarse  in  their  language ;  and  covered  their 
royal  "  lover "  with  ridicule  by  the  open  indecorum  of 
their  infidelities.  The  Court  of  Louis  XIY.  was,  au  fond, 
as  dissolute,  perhaps,  as  that  of  the  Merry  Monarch,  but 
its  external  aspect  was  one  of  order,  seemliness,  and 
courtesy;  while  that  of  the  latter,  with  its  orgies,  its 
assignations,  and  its  brawls,  was  an  outrage  upon  public 
decency.  From  week  to  week  Whitehall  or  Hampton 
Court  resounded  with  the  din  of  these  heartless  saturnalia. 
The  courtiers  bandied  repartees  and  doubles  eniendres  with 
their  king,  and  mocked  him  to  his  face;  the  maids  of 
honour  toyed  with  their  admirers  in  his  presence,  and 
laughed  at  him  behind  his  back.  The  grossest  scandals 
were  of  daily  occurrence  ;  the  daughters  of  noble  families 
outvied  one  another  in  the  race  of  dishonour ;  no  woman 
with  any  pretension  to  charm  of  face  or  grace  of  figure 
escaped — and  few  resented — the  degrading  attentions  of 
the  '^  men  of  fashion,"  who  scofied  at  female  purity  as  a 
delusion,  and  applied  all  their  powers  to  the  unrestrained 
indulgence  of  the  senses.  Duelling  and  raking  were  the 
avowed  accomplishments  of  a  fine  gentleman.  As  the 
historian  says — "grave  divines  winked  at  the  follies  of 
'  honest  fellows  '  who  fought,  gambled,  swore,  drank,  and 
ended  a  day  of  debauchery  by  a  night  in  the  gutter.  Life 
among  men  of  fashion  vibrated  between  frivolity  and 
excess.  One  of  the  comedies  of  the  time  tells  the  courtier 
that  *  he  must  dress  well,  dance  well,  fence  well,  have  a 
talent  for  love-letters,  an  agreeable  voice,  be  amorous  and 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


315 


discreet — but  not  too  constant.'  To  graces  such  as  these 
the  rakes  of  the  Kestoration  added  a  shamelessness  and  a 
brutality  which  passes  belief." 

This  brutal  and  shameless  sin  which  cankered  English 
society  within  the  limits  of  Court  influence  was,  in  a 
great  measure,  due  to  the  evil  example  of  the  man  whom 
tradition  so  absurdly  designates  "the  Merry  Monarch." 
He  was  a  man  of  courage  and  of  fine  parts,  of  perfect 
manners,  and  easy  temper;  had  some  knowledge  of  art 
and  poetry ;  told  a  story  happily ;  and  could  hold  his 
own  amongst  the  brilliant  wits  of  his  Court.  But  a  re- 
morseless ennui  consumed  him,  springing,  perhaps,  from  a 
constitutional  gloom  of  temperament ;  and  he  took  refuge 
from  it  in  the  coarser  forms  of  pleasure.  During  his 
exile  he  had  seen  much  of  the  ''  seamy  side  of  life,''  and 
had  learned  to  disbelieve  in  the  truth  of  man  and  the 
purity  of  woman.  Sensual  enjoyment  became  his  exclu- 
sive object ;  but  even  into  this  he  carried  the  burden  of 
his  invincible  weariness,  and  he  cared  nothing  for  the 
women  whom  he  made  his  mistresses — very  little  for  the 
children  of  whom  they  proclaimed  him  the  father.  They 
deceived  him  openly,  but  he  made  no  sign  of  anger  or 
annoyance.  Nor,  we  believe,  did  he  feel  any ;  he  could 
not  rouse  himself  sufficiently  from  his  cynical  indif- 
ferentism  to  entertain  even  these  lesser  emotions.  It 
was  but  a  part  of  the  farcical  comedy  of  which  fate  had 
made  him  the  central  figure.  What  did  it  matter?  It 
would  all  end  some  day,  and,  meanwhile,  he  took  such 
amusement  as  he  could  get,  and  recognized  that  he  was 
cheated  by  the  women  on  whom  he  lavished  his  royal 
gifts,  and  ridiculed  by  the  courtiers  whom  he  treated  with 
so  much  good-natured  familiarity.      ''  No  thought  of  re- 


316 


THE    MERRr   MONARCH  ; 


morse  or  sliame,"  says  Mr.  Green,  "  seems  ever  to  have 
crossed  Ms  mind."  Why  should  it?  Here  was  a  man  to 
whom  life  was  nothing  more  than  a  dreary  farce,  which 
he  and  others  were  compelled  to  play  out :  how  could  re- 
morse or  shame  penetrate  the  armour  of  this  apathetic 
negligence  ?  He  cared  nothing  for  the  past ;  and  as  for 
the  future,  he  did  not  think,  he  said,  that  God  would 
make  a  man  miserable  only  for  taking  a  little  pleasure 
out  of  the  way.  Perhaps,  at  last,  he  became  conscious  of 
some  small  anxiety  on  the  subject ;  if  so,  he  got  rid  of  it 
in  his  usual  easy  fashion  by  embracing  Eomanism,  and 
throwing  all  responsibility  on  the  shoulders  of  his  con- 
fessor. 

"  Mistress  followed  mistress,''  says  the  historian,  ''  and 
the  guilt  of  a  troop  of  profligate  women  was  blazoned  to 
the  world  by  the  gift  of  titles  and  estates."  These  profli- 
gate women  enjoy  a  kind  of  spurious  immortality  as  "  the 
Beauties  of  the  Court  of  Charles  II.''  Posterity  has  dealt 
with  their  memory  much  more  kindly  than  they  deserved, 
and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  but  that  their  names  are  better 
known  to  multitudes  than  those  of  the  men  of  letters,  and 
the  philosophers,  and  the  statesmen  who,  during  their 
shameless  reign,  helped  to  make  English  literature, 
English  science,  and  English  history.  I  suspect  that  for 
a  hundred  who  have  heard  of  Nell  Gwynn  you  will  not 
find  one  who  has  heard,  let  us  say,  of  Cud  worth  or  Henry 
More.  We  are  a  moral  people ;  yet  audacious  vice  has  a 
certain  kind  of  attraction  for  us,  like  that  of  a  deep  pool 
for  a  man  who  cannot  swim.  He  looks  on,  fascinated ; 
though  he  has  no  intention  of  plunging  into  it.  The 
curious  popular  interest  still  exhibited  in  the  Beauties  of 
the  Court  of  Charles  II.  may  be  due  to  some  such  cause 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


317 


as  this;  or  it  may  be  owing  to  the  influence  of  their 
personal  charms  as  preserved  for  us  on  glowing  canvas 
by  the  brush  of  Sir  Peter  Lely.  Everybody  knows  the 
apartment  at  Hampton  Court — it  is  called  "  King  William 
III.'s  Bedroom" — the  walls  of  which  are  adorned  with 
the  portraits  of  these  voluptuous  nymphs.  When  tlie 
Palace  is  open  to  the  public  you  will  always  find  an 
admiring  crowd  grouped  before  Sir  Peter  Lely's  master- 
pieces, contemplating  the  liberal  charms  which  once 
beguiled  a  king. 

The  origin  of  these  portraits  is  thus  explained  by  the 
biographer  of  the  Count  de  Grammont  :— 

"  There  was  in  London,"  he  says, "  a  celebrated  portrait- 
painter,  called  Lely,  who  had  greatly  improved  himself  by 
studying  the  famous  Vandyke's  pictures,  which  were  dis- 
persed all  over  England  in  abundance.  Lely  imitated 
Vandyke's  manner,  and  approached  the  nearest  to  him  of 
all  the  moderns.  The  Duchess  of  York  being  desirous  of 
having  the  portraits  of  the  handsomest  persons  at  Court, 
Lely  painted  them,  and  employed  all  his  skill  in  the  per- 
formance; nor  could  he  ever  exert  himself  upon  more 
beautiful  subjects."* 

As  Byron  tells  us,  their  disordered  drapery  hints  we 
may  admire  them  freely ;  but  one  cannot  help  a  passing 

♦  We  subjoin  Horace  Walpole's  criticism :—"  If  Vandyck's  portraits  are 
often  tamo  and  spiritless,  at  least  they  are  natural ;  his  l:il)ourod  draperies 
flow  with  ease,  and  not  a  fold  but  is  placed  with  propriety.  Lely  su])plied 
the  want  of  taste  with  cUnquant :  his  nyinphs  trail  frini^es  aiid^  eml-ioi- 
dery  through  meadows  and  purling  streams.  A<M,  that  Vaiidyck's  habits 
are  those  of  the  times;  Lely'ri  a  sort  of  t^intastic  uiglit-gown.s,  fastened  with 
a  single  pin.  The  latter  was,  in  truth,  the  ladies'  ])ainter  ;  and  wherher 
the  age  was  improved  in  beauty  or  ilattery,  Lely^a  women  are  certainly 
much  handsomer  than  those  of  Vandyck.  They  please  us  nmeh  more  as 
they  evidently  meaned  to  please.  Ho  caught  the  reigning  character,  and 
'  ...  on  the  animated  canvas  stole 
The  Bleepy  eye  that  spoke  the  melting  soul.'  " 

Anecdotes  of  Painters. 


518 


THE    MEERY    MONARCH; 


feeling  of  wonderment  that  even  a  king's  mistress  should 
consent  to  be  exhibited  to  the  public  gaze  with  so  exces- 
sive an  abandon.  Yet  such  a  feeling  may  hardly  be  just, 
in  a  day  when  photography  crowds  the  shop-windows  with 
portraits  of  professional  beauties  and  popular  actresses  in 
a  costume — or  want  of  costume — that  would  have  shocked 
even  Nell  Gwynn. 

These  "  Beauties  of  the  Court  of  Charles  IL  "  occupy  in 
the  social  history  of  the  Eestoration  period  a  place  of  so 
much  importance  that  it  is  not  competent  for  us  to  ignore 
them  wholly.  They  belong  to  the  period  as  much  as  its 
dramatists,  its  courtiers,  its  poets,  or  its  wits.  Some  of 
them,  at  least,  are  represented  to  this  day  among  the 
proud  aristocracy  of  England.  The  ducal  house  of  Grafton 
traces  its  origin  to  Barbara  Palmer,  Duchess  of  Cleveland ; 
that  of  St.  Albans,  to  Mistress  Eleanor  Gwynn ;  that  of 
Eichmond  to  Louise  de  Querouaille ;  and  that  of  Buccleuch 
to  Lucy  Walters.  Sir  Bernard  Burke  would  tell  us 
how  many  other  noble  taniilies  are  more  or  less  directly 
connected  with  these  royal  courtesans.  Place  aiix  Dames/ 
is,  therefore,  an  obligation  which  we  cannot  refuse  to 
acknowledge ;  but  we  shall  pass  as  briefly  and  lightly  as 
possible  over  the  story  of  their  careers,  which  has  in  it  so 
little  to  interest  the  historian,  and  so  much  to  grieve  the 
moralist — confining  ourselves  in  the  present  chapter  to 
the  four  of  highest  rank,  the  notorious  Duchesses  of 
Cleveland,  Portsmouth,  Richmond,  and  Mazarin. 

Her  imperious  temper  and  brilliant,  bold  beauty  brings 
into  the  front  rank  the  notorious  Barbara  Palmer,  succes- 
sively Countess  of  Castlemaine  and  Duchess  of  Cleveland. 

She  was  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  William  Villiers, 
Yiscount    Grandison,  who  died  at  Oxford,  in   1643,   of 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


319 


wounds  received  in  Edgehill  fight.  In  1658,  when  she 
was  just  eighteen  years  old,  she  was  married  to  Koger 
Palmer,  then  a  student  in  the  temple,  and  heir  to  a  small 
estate.  In  the  following  year  the  young  couple  joined 
the  Court  of  King  Charles  II.  at  Breda,  where  the  charms 
and  gallantries  of  the  new  beauty  soon  attracted  atten- 
tion. In  166]  she  gave  birth  to  a  daughter,  afterwards 
Lady  Sussex,  whose  father  was  generally  considered  to  be 
the  Earl  of  Chesterfield.  But  she  was  already  the  avowed 
mistress  of  Charles  II. ,  and  had  begun  to  acquire  over  him 
an  ascendancy  which,  in  spite  of  continual  intrigues 
against  her,  she  maintained  for  nearly  ten  years.  On 
the  king's  marriage  to  Catherine  of  Braganza,  he  en- 
deavoured to  force  her  upon  his  reluctant  consort  as  a 
lady  of  the  bedchamber,  that  he  might  continue  to  enjoy 
her  company  at  Court ;  and  to  qualify  her  for  this  pro- 
motion, he  created  her  husband,  in  1662,  Earl  of  Castle- 
maine in  the  Irish  peerage.  The  king's  connection  with 
the  imperious  beauty  was  a  matter  of  so  much  publicity 
as  to  be  well  known  at  the  Portuguese  Court ;  and  before 
Catherine  left  Lisbon  her  mother  urged  upon  her  never  to 
allow  the  Countess's  name  to  be  mentioned  in  her  pre- 
sence. Judge  of  her  indignation,  therefore,  when  she 
found  her  included  among  the  ladies  of  the  bedchamber  ! 
She  struck  the  hated  woman  from  the  list;  and  as 
she  threatened  to  return  to  her  family  rather  than 
undergo  so  gross  an  outrage,  Charles  for  a  time  was  com- 
pelled to  submit.  Some  months  later,  when  he  thought  a 
suitable  opportunity  had  arrived  for  repeating  the  attempt, 
lie  led  the  Countess  into  the  queen's  audience-chamber  at 
Hampton  Court,  and  presented  his  mistress  to  his  wife. 
At  first  the  Queen  appears  not  to  have  recognized  the  name, 


320 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


321 


and  she  received  her,  therefore,  with  politeness ;  but  when 
the  truth  flashed  upon  her,  and  she  perceived  the  full 
enormity  of  the  insult,  she  burst  into  tears,  the  blood 
flowed  from  her  nose,  and  she  fell  to  the  ground  in  a 
swoon.  Her  ladies  conveyed  her  to  another  room,  and 
the  company  broke  up  *•"  in  admired  disorder." 

So  absolute,  however,  was  the  influence  which  the 
Countess  exercised,  that  Charles  persisted  in  this  struggle 
against  his  wife's  natural  feelings.  Moreover,  he  was 
sensitive  to  the  jibes  and  jeers  of  his  courtiers,  and  would 
rather  appear  before  the  world  as  "  no  gentleman  "  than 
as  a  henpecked  husband.  His  own  remonstrances  and 
persuasions  proving  ineffectual  to  overcome  his  wife's  re- 
sistance, he  sought  the  intervention  of  his  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, Clarendon.  To  him  he  related  all  that  had  taken 
place,  and  requested  him  to  negotiate  with  the  Queen  for 
her  consent  to  the  proposed  arrangement,  by  which  her 
husband's  mistress  was  to  be  included  among  her  per- 
sonal attendants  and  close  companions.  Clarendon,  for 
many  reasons,  shrank  from  tlie  unwelcome  task.  Not  one 
of  the  least  powerful  was  the  strong  antipathy  which  had 
always  existed  between  the  Countess  and  himself;  but  he 
also  felt  the  shame  and  disgrace  of  being  employed  on  so 
dishonourable  a  mission,  nor  was  he  insensible  to  tlie 
cinielty  of  laying  upon  the  Queen  a  command  "which 
flesh  and  blood  could  not  comply  with."  Charles  listened 
with  patience,  but  repeated  his  request ;  and  the  grave 
Chancellor  conquered  his  scruples  rather  than  risk  oflicial 
disgrace.  He  paid  three  visits  to  the  Queen  in  carrying 
out  this  dirty  business;  but  failed,  as  the  King  had 
failed,  to  shake  her  resolution.  At  one  time  she  would 
be  prostrated  with  the  bitterness  of  her  grief ;  at  another. 


her  wounded  pride  kindled  into  a  blaze  of  wrath ;  but, 
sorrowful  or  indignant,  she  rejected  all  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor's appeals,  promises,  and  expostulations.  Charles' 
temper  gave  way,  and  he  addressed  his  unlucky  go- 
between  in  this  most  unkingly  strain  : — 

"  Hampton  Court. 
"  For  the  Chancellor. 

"  I  forgot  when  you  were  here  last  to  desire  you 
to  give  Broderick  good  council  not  to  meddle  any  more 
with  what  concerns  my  Lady  Castlemaine,  and  to  let  him 
have  a  care  how  he  is  the  author  of  any  scandalous  re- 
ports; for  if  I  find  him  guilty  of  any  such  thing,  I  will 
make  him  repent  it  to  the  last  moment  of  his  life. 

"  And  now  I  am  entered  on  this  matter,  I  think  it  very 
necessary  to  give  you  a  little  good  council,  lest  you  may 
think  that  by  making  a  further  stir  in  the  business  you 
may  divert  me  from  my  resolution,  which  all  the  world 
shall  never  do,  and  I  wish  I  may  be  unhappy  in  this 
world,  and  in  the  world  to  come,  if  I  fail  in  the  least 
degree  of  what  I  resolved,  which  is  of  making  my  Lady 
Castlemaine  of  my  wife's  bed-chamber,  and  whosoever  I 
find  endeavouring  to  hinder  this  resolution  of  mine,  ex- 
cept it  be  only  to  myself,  I  will  be  his  enemy  to  the  last 
moment  of  my  life.  You  know  how  much  a  friend  I  have 
been  to  you :  if  you  will  oblige  me  eternally,  make  this 
business  as  easy  to  me  as  you  can,  of  what  opinion  you 
are  of ;  for  I  am  resolved  to  go  through  with  this  matter, 
let  what  will  come  of  it,  which  again  I  solemnly  swear 
before  Almighty  God ;  wherefore,  if  you  desire  to  have 
the  continuance  of  my  friendship,  meddle  no  more  with 
this  business,  except  it  be  to  beat  down  all  false  and 
scandalous  reports,  and  to  facilitate  what  I  am  sure  my 

VOL.    I.  Y 


322 


THE  MEERY  MOl^AECH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


323 


honour  is  so  much  concerned  in  ;  and  whomsoever  I  find  to 
be  my  Lady  Castlemaine's  enemy  in  this  matter,  I  do  pro- 
mise upon  my  word  to  be  his  enemy  as  long  as  I  live. 
You  may  shew  this  letter  to  my  Lord  Lieutenant,  and  if 
you  have  both  a  mind  to  oblige  me,  carry  yourselves  like 

friends  to  me  in  this  matter. 

''  Charles  E." 

Out  of   that  topsy-turvy  world   in  which    Mr.  W.  S. 
Gilbert    and   Mr.   Lewis   Carroll  delight,   could   anyone 
expect  to  find  so  strange  and  wayward  a  group  of  cha- 
racters   as    is    here   presented    for    our   bitter,  scornful 
laughter  ?     A  King,  his  Lord  Chancellor,  and  his  Lord 
Lieutenant,   all   engaged   in    the    ignoble   enterprise  of 
forcing  upon  that  King's    young  and  blameless  wife— 
but  recently  married — the  intimacy  of  his  mistress  !    Can 
it  ever  have   occurred  to  the   sovereign   and  his   grave 
statesmen  what  ignominious  figures  they  would  make  in 
the  eyes  of  posterity  ?      I  know  of  nothing  in  Cliarles's 
life— unspeakably  mean  and  criminally  foul  as  it  was— so 
mean,  so  foul  as  this  effort,  unfortunately  at  last  success- 
ful, to  involve  his  wife  in  the  smirch  and  stain  of  his  own 
infamy— to  make  her  publicly  recognize,  and  to  all  ap- 
pearance sanction,  the  adulterous  connexion  which  had 
brouo-ht  dishonour  to  her  bed  and  sown  with  thorns  her 
path.      He  succeeded,  for  the  struggle  w^as  too  unequal  to 
be  of  long  continuance  :  Catlierine,  friendless,  and  perse- 
cuted by  him  who  sliould  naturally  have  been  her  pro- 
tector, suddenly  submitted,  and  astonished  the  world  by 
the  comi)leteness  of  her   submission.     She   treated  her 
rival   with  open   fiimiliarity ;    they  conversed  together, 
and   smiled   upon  each  other,  in  public,   like   old   and 
attached  friends;   and  it  would  really  seem  that  even- 


tually something  like  a  friendly  understanding  was  estab- 
lished between  the  mistress  and  the  wife. 

Let  us,  with  the  help  of  Mr.  Pepys,  now  take  a  passing 
glance  at  the  mistress's  husband.  ''That  which  pleased 
me  best,"  says  the  diarist,  "was  my  Lady  Castlemaine 
standing  over  against  us  upon  a  piece  of  Whitehall.  But 
methought  it  was  strange  to  see  her  lord  and  her  upon 
the  same  place,  walking  up  and  down  without  taking 
notice  of  one  another  :  only,  at  first  entry,  he  put  off  his 
hat,  and  she  made  him  a  very  civil  salute,  but  afterwards 
took  no  notice  one  of  another;  but  both  of  them  now  and 
then  would  take  their  child,  which  the  nurse  held  in  her 
arms,  and  dandle  it."  This  child  the  Earl,  who  was  a 
Eonian  Catholic,  desired  to  have  baptized  in  his  own 
communion ;  but  Lady  Castlemaine  declared  that  the 
King  w^as  his  father,  and  the  infant  was  baptized,  there- 
fore, according  to  Church  of  England  rites,  the  King, 
the  Earl  of  Oxford,  and  the  Countess  of  Suffolk  acting  as 
sponsors.  In  great  dudgeon,  the  Earl  withdrew  to  the 
Continent,  w^hile  Lady  Castlemaine,  gathering  up  her 
jewels,  removed  to  her  brother's  house  at  Richmond,  and 
was  soon  afterwards  installed  in  gorgeous  apartments  at 
Whitehall. 

At  the  time  of  the  Popish  Plot,  Lord  Castlemaine  was 
charged  by  the  infamous  Titus  Gates  with  having  con- 
spired, in  revenge  for  the  injury  done  him  by  the  King, 
against  Charles's  life ;  but  the  evidence  was  not  con- 
vincing, the  jury  were  lenient,  and  he  luckily  obtained 
an  acquittal.  On  the  accession  of  James  II.  he  was 
appointed  Ambassador  to  the  Court  of  Eome,  with  in- 
structions "  to  reconcile  the  kingdoms  of  England,  Scot- 
land, and  Ireland  to  the  Holy  See,  from  which^  for  more 


324 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


325 


than  an  age,  they  liad  fallen  off  by  heresy."  For  such  a 
mission  it  was  impossible  to  have  chosen  a  more  unfit 
person.  He  was  well  versed,  to  be  sure,  in  theological 
polemics;  but  for  the  post  thrusfc  upon  him  he  had 
neither  the  requisite  address  nor  capacity,  and  his  name 
was  indissolubly  associated  with  dishonourable  circum- 
stances. He  was  known,  as  Macaulay  puts  it,  all  over 
Europe  as  the  husband  of  the  most  shameless  of  women, 
and  he  was  known  in  no  other  way.  It  was  impossible 
to  speak  to  him,  or  of  him,  without  remembering  the  price 
he  had  paid  for  his  title.  This  circumstance  would  not 
have  been  of  so  much  importance  if  he  had  been  accredited 
to  some  profligate  Court ;  but  the  impropriety  was  obvious 
of  sending  him  upon  an  embassy,  which  was  of  a  spiritual 
rather  than  a  secular  character,  to  a  pontiff  of  primitive 
austerity.  It  was  not  until  after  some  months  of  delay 
that  the  Pope  admitted  him  to  a  public  audience,  and 
then  he  received  him  with  such  icy  reserve,  and  so 
unmistakably  indicated  his  dislike,  that  there  was 
nothing  for  him  but  to  return  home  like  a  whipped 
spaniel.  He  spent  the  closing  years  of  his  life  in  Wales, 
and  died  in  1705. 

In  1670,  after  her  separation  from  Charles  II.,  and  i)ro- 
bably  as  part  of  the  terms  on  which  it  was  effected,  tlie 
Countess  was  created  Baroness  of  Nonsuch,  in  Surrey, 
Countess  of  Southampton,  and  Duchess  of  Cleveland, 
durino"  her  natural  life,  with  remainder  to  Charles  and 
George  Fitzroy,  her  eldest  and  her  third  sons,  and  to 

their  heirs  male. 

Of  the  relations  which  had  subsisted  between  Charles 
and  his  mistress  during  the  period  of  her  ascendancy  we 
find  some  curious  glimpses  in  the  gossippy  chronicle  of 


our  friend  Pepys.  They  serve  to  confirm  us  in  the  belief 
that  the  Court  of  Charles  II.  was,  as  we  have  already 
hinted,  a  kind  of  topsy-turvy  world  in  which  everything 
was  reversed,  the  laws  of  etiquette  as  well  as  the  prin- 
ciples of  morality. 

He  writes  on  May  21st,  1662  :  "My  wife  and  I  to  my 
lord  [Sandwich]  's  lodging;  where  she  and  I  stayed 
walking  in  Whitehall  Garden.  And  in  the  Privy  Gardens 
saw  the  finest  smocks  and  linen  petticoats  of  my  Lady 
Castlemaine's,  with  rich  lace  at  the  bottom,  that  ever  I 
saw ;  and  did  me  good  to  look  at  them.  Sarah  told  me 
how  the  King  dined  at  my  Lady  Castlemaine's,  and 
supped  every  day  and  night  the  last  week ;  and  that  the 
niglit  the  bonfires  were  made  for  joy  of  the  Queen's 
arrival,  the  King  was  there;  but  there  was  no  fire  at 
her  door,  though  at  all  the  rest  of  the  doors  almost  in  the 
street ;  which  was  much  observed :  and  that  the  King  and 
she  did  send  for  a  pair  of  scales  and  weighed  one  another; 
and  she  .  .  .  was  said  to  be  the  heaviest.  But  she  is  now 
a  most  disconsolate  creature,  and  comes  not  out  of  doors, 
since  the  King's  going." 

*' January,  1663.— Mrs.  Sarah  tells  us  how  the  King 
sups  at  least  four  times  every  week  with  my  Lady  Castle- 
maine,  and  most  often  stays  till  the  morning  with  her, 
and  goes  home  through  the  garden  all  alone  privately, 
and  that  so  as  the  very  sentries  take  notice  of  it  and 
speak  of  it." 

"  April  8th,  1663.— After  dinner  to  the  Hyde  Park ;  at 
the  Park  was  the  King,  and  in  another  coach  my  Lady 
Castlemaine,  they  greeting  one  another  at  every  turn." 

"April  25th,  1663.— I  did  hear  that  the  Queen  is  much 
grieved  of  late  at  the  King's  neglecting  her,  he  having 


326 


THE   MERRY    MONARCH  ; 


not  supped  once  witli  lier  this  quarter  of  a  year,  and 
almost  every  night  with  my  Lady  Castlemaine,  who  liatli 
been  with  him  since  St.  George's  Feast  at  Windsor,  and 
came  hooie  with  liim  hist  night ;  and  which  is  more,  tliey 
say  is  removed  as  to  her  bed  from  her  own  house  to  a 
chamber  in  Whitehall,  next  to  the  King's  own." 

^'  Jufi/  2271  f^,  ion.']. — In  discourse  of  the  ladies  at  court, 
Captain  Ferrers  tells  me  that  my  Lady  Castlemahie  is 
now  as  great  again  n^  over  she  was;  and  that  lier  u""iiig 
away  was  only  a  fit  of  her  own  upon  some  slighting  words 
of  tlie  King,  so  that  she  called  for  her  coach  at  a  quarter 
of  an  hour's  warnincf,  and  went  to  Kichmond;  and  tlie 
King,  next  morning,  umler  pretence  of  going  a-hunting, 
went  to  see  her  and  maho  friends,  and  never  was  a-huut- 
ing  at  all.  After  wliich  she  canio  back  to  Court,  and 
commands  the  King  as  much  as  ever,  and  hath  and  doth 
what  she  will.  No  longer  ago  than  last  night,  there  was 
a  private  entertainment  made  for  the  King  and  Queen  at 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham's,  and  she  was  not  invited;  but 
being  at  my  Lady  Suffolk's,  her  aunt's  (where  my  Lady 
Jemima  and  Lord  Sandwich  dined)  yesterday,  she  was 
heard  to  say — '  Well,  much  good  may  it  do  them,  and  for 
all  that  I  will  be  as  merry  as  they ; '  and  so  she  went 
home  and  caused  a  great  supper  to  be  prejxired.  And 
after  the  King  had  been  with  the  Queen  at  AVallingford 
House,  he  came  to  my  Lady  Castlemaine's,  and  was  there 
all  night,  and  my  Lord  Sandwich  with  him.  He  tells  me 
he  believes  that,  as  soon  as  the  King  can  get  a  husband 
for  Mrs.  Stewart,  however,  my  Lady  Castlemaine's  nose 
will  be  out  of  joint ;  for  that  she  comes  to  be  in  great 
esteem,  and  is  more  handsome  than  slie.'^ 

''June  10th,  1666.— The  Queen,  in  ordinary  talk  before 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


327 


the   ladies  in   her   drawing-room,   did    say   to  my  Lady 
Castlemaine  that  she  feared  the  King  did  take  cold  by 
staying  so  late  abroad  at  her  house.     She  answered  before 
them  all,  that  he  did  not  stay  so  late  abroad  with  her,  for 
lie  went  betimes  thence  (though  he  do  not  before  one,  two, 
or  three  in  the  morning),  but  must  stay  somewhere  else. 
The  King  then  coming  in,  and  overhearing,  did  whisper  in 
her  ear  aside,  and  told  her  she  was  a  bold,  impertinent 
woman,  and  bid  her  to  be  gone  out  of  the  Court,  and  not 
come  again  till  he  sent  for  her ;  which  she  did  presently, 
and  went  to  a  lodging  in  the  Pall  Mall,  and  kept  there 
two  or  three  days,   and  then  sent  to  the  King  to  know 
whether  she  might  send  for  her  things  away  out  of  her 
house.     The  King  sent  to  her,  she  must  first  come  and 
Tiew  them  ;  and  so  she  came,  and  the  King  went  to  her, 
and  all  friends  again.     He  tells  me  she  did,  in  her  anger, 
say  slie  would  be  even  with  the  King,  and  print  his  letters 

to  her." 

«*  Jtihj  2dth,  1G(37.— I  was  surprised  at  seeing  Lady 
Castlemaine  at  Whitehall,  having  but  newly  heard  the 
stories  of  the  King  and  her  being  parted  for  ever.  So  I 
took  Mr.  Povy,  who  was  there,  aside,  and  he  told  me  all, 
—how  imperious  this  woman  is,  and  hectors  the  King  to 
whatever  she  will.  So  she  is  come  to-day,  when  one 
would  think  his  mind  would  be  fnll  of  some  other  cares, 
having  but  this  morning  broken  up  such  a  Parliament 
with  so  much  discontent  and  so  many  wants  upon  him, 
and  hut  yesterday  heard  such  a  sermon  against  adultery. 

'' August  nil,  1667.— Though  the  King  and  my  Lady 
Castlemaine  are  friends  again,  she  is  not  at  Whitehall,  but 
at  Sir  D.  Harvey's,  whither  the  King  goes  to  her;  and  he 
(Sir  D.  Harvey)  says  she  will  make  him  (the  King)  ask 


328 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


her  forgiveness  upon  his  knees,  and  promise  to  offend  lier 
no  more  so.'^ 

^'January  I6th,  1669.— Povy  tells  me  that  my  Lady 
Castlemaine  is  now  in  a  liiglier  command  over  tlie  King 
than  ever — not  as  a  mistress,  for  she  scorns  him,  but  as  a 
tyrant  to  command  him." 

The  amours  of  this  shameless  beauty  supplied  the  lam- 
pooners of  the  day   with   abundant  material,   but  their 
coarsest  shafts  seem  to  have  had  no  effect  upon  her  im- 
pertiirbabiUty.     Among   the  gallants  she   favoured  was 
Harry  Jermyn,  who  makes  so  contemptible  a  figure  in  De 
Grammont's  Memoirs  ;  Charles  Hart  and  Goodman,  the 
actors;   Jacob  Hall,  the  rope-dancer;  and  Wycherley,  the 
dramatist.      Handsome  Jack   Churchill    (afterwards   the 
great   Duke  of  Marlborough)    was  also  the  object  of  a 
temporary  attachment.     "  A  man,  who  from  an  ensign  in 
the  Guards,"  says  Count  Hamilton,  "was  raised  to  such  a 
fortune,  must  certainly  possess  an   uncommon  share  of 
prudence,   not  to   be    intoxicated   with    his    happiness. 
Churchill  boasted  of  it  in  all  places  ;  and  the  Duchess,  who 
recommended  to  him  circumspection  neither  in  his  beha- 
viour nor  his  conversation,  did  not  seem  to  be  concerned 
in  the  least  at  his  indiscretion.     Thus  this  intrigue  had 
become  a  general  topic  in  all  companies,  when  the  Court 
arrived  in  London,  and  occasioned  an  immense  number  of 
speculations  and   reasonings."    It  was   disclosed  to  the 
King  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  between  whom  and 
the  Duchess  an  ill-feeling  had  always  prevailed,    fle  con- 
ducted Charles  to  the  chamber  of  his  mistress,  when  she 
was  entertaining  her  gallant,  but,  the  alarm  being  given, 
Churchill  escaped  by   leaping  from  the  window.      The 
Duchess   rewarded  his  prompt  courage  with  a  gift  of 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


329 


£5,000 ;  of  which,  with  characteristic  thrift,  he  disposed 
by  purchasing  an  annuity  of  £500,  secured  on  the  estates 
■of  the  Earl  of  Halifax. 

The  vehemence  of  her  temper  bored  the  King  at  last, 
and  in  1668  she  found  it  necessary  to  retire  from  White- 
hall, Two  years  later  she  repaired  to  France,  and  there 
she  principally  resided  during  the  remainder  of  her  ill- 
spent  life.  At  Paris  she  did  not  mend  her  ways  nor  her 
morals;  and  scandal  connected  her  name  with  those  of 
Montagu,  the  English  amdassador,  first  Duke  of  Montagu, 
and  the  Chevalier  de  Chatillon.  Her  liaiso7i  with  the 
latter  was  so  openly  conducted  as  to  provoke  a  remon- 
strance from  Charles  IL,  to  which  she  replied  in  a  strain 
of  defiant  shamelessness  :— "  I  promise  you,"  she  wrote, 
''  that  for  my  conduct  it  shall  be  such  as  that  you  nor 
nobody  shall  have  occasion  to  blame  me.  And  I  hope 
you  will  be  just  to  what  you  said  to  me,  which  was  at  my 
house  when  you  told  me  you  had  letters  of  mine.  You 
said—'  Madam,  all  that  I  ask  of  you  for  your  own  sake 
is,  Kve  so  for  the  future  as  to  make  the  least  noise  you 
can,  and  I  care  not  who  you  love  ! ' "  Love  !  was  ever 
that  noble  passion  more  miserably  degraded  ? 

That  Nemesis  which  always  waits  upon  our  ill-doings 
overtook  the  Duchess  in  her  later  years.  She  was  sixty- 
five  when  some  singular  infatuation  led  her  to  marry*— a 
few  months  after  her  husband's  death— Robert  Fielding, 
better  known  in  the  scandalous  chronicles  of  the  time  as 
"  Handsome  Fielding,"  or  "  Beau  Fielding,"  a  man  of 
infamous  character  and  desperate  fortunes,  who  so  cruelly 
ill-treated  her  that  she  was  compelled,  within  a  few 
months,  to  seek  the  protection  of  the  law.     Fortunately 

♦  November  25th,  1705. 


330 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


for  the  Duchess,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  a  wife  still 
living;  and  his  coiivietiou  for  bigamy  delivereil  the 
Duchess  from  her  thraldrom.  She  died  about  two  years 
afterwards,  of  dropsy  (October  9th,  1709),  and  was  buried 
in  Chiswick  Church.  No  monument  marks  her  last 
resting-place. 

Bishop  Burnet  says  of  her:— ''She  was  a  woman  of 
great  beauty,  but  most  enorni  tusly  vicious  and  ravenous  ; 
foolish,  but  iiiipcrious  ;  very  uneasy    to    the  Kiiii^',  and 
always  carrying  on  intrigues  with  other  men,  whil.'  yet 
she  pretended  she   was  jealous  of  him.     His  passion  for 
her,  and  her  st  ran  ire  behaviour  towards  him,  did  so  dis- 
order  him,  that  often  lie  was  not  master  of  himself,  nor 
capable  of  minding  busin         whicli,  in  so  critical  a  tiaie, 
required  great  application.''     The  pr^^rn-n^ty  of  one  of  the 
Bishop's  ei)ithets   may    well  be   doubted.     Had  she  not 
possessed  some  uujount  of  talent,  readiness,  resource,  and 
courage,  she  could  hardly  ha  vr-  maintained  her  asc'iidancy 
in  Charles's  Court  for  nine  or  ten  years,  and  have  foiled 
the  numerous  intrigues  directed  against  her.     She  was  a 
bold,  bad   woman,  unquestion  il)ly  ;   she  had  not  even  the 
grace  to  be  faithful  to  her  royal  lover— a  grace  which  has 
inclined  posterity  to  conlone  in  some  degree  the  fiuilty 
of  an  Agnes  Sorel,  a  Gabrielle  D'Estrees,  and  :i  Louise  de 
la  Valliere.     She    was    almost  as  indiseritninate   in    her 
attachments  as  the  lietaim  of  the  streets;  but  that  she 
was  a  woman  of  considerable  capacity  must,  we  think,  be 
admitted.     Her  personal  attractions  not  even  her  eneuiiea 
disputed;  her  beauty  was  on  that  large  and  liberal  scale 
which  dazzles  and  commands— which  surprises  from  the 
spectator  his  involuntary  admiration.     She  seems  to  have 
been  capable  of  acts  of  generosity  ;  and  it  may  be  set  to 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


331 


her  credit  that  she  does  not  appear  to  have  exerted  her 
influence  over  the  King  for  any  political  object.  The 
chief  use  she  made  of  it  was  to  accumulate  lands  and 
moneys,  which  she  afterwards  dissipated  at  the  gaming 
table.     She   is   said   to  have    lost   £27,000   at   a   single 

sitting. 

The  negative  merit  with  which  we  have  been  compelled 
to  credit  the  Duchess  of  Cleveland  cannot  be  pnt  to  the 
rrood  account  of  Louise  de  la  Queronaille,  Duchess  of 
Portsmouth.  This  black-eyed,  baby-fiiced  beauty  made 
her  appearance  at  Charles's  Court,  avowedly  as  an  emis- 
sary of  Louis  XIV.,  and  with  the  special  object  of  attach- 
ing the  King  to  the  French  interests. 

"One  of  the  devices,''  says  Macaulay,  "to  which  Louis 
resorted  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  an  ascendency  in 
the  English  counsels  deserves  special  notice.  Charles, 
though  incapable  of  love  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word, 
was  the  slave  of  any  woman  whose  person  excited  his 
desires,  and  wdiose  airs  and  prattle  amused  his  leisure. 
Indeed,  a  husband  would  be  justly  derided  who  should 
bear  from  a  wife  of  exalted  rank  and  spotless  virtue  half 
the  insolence  which  the  King  of  England  bore  from  con- 
cubines who,  while  they  owed  everything  to  his  bounty, 
caressed  his  courtiers  almost  before  Ins  face.  He  had 
patiently  endured  the  termagant  passions  of  Barbara 
Palmer  and  the  pert  vivacity  of  Eleanor  Gwynn.  Louis 
thought  that  the  most  useful  envoy  who  could  be  sent  to 
London  would  be  a  handsome,  licentious,  and  crafty 
Frenchwoman.  Such  a  woman  was  Louise,  a  lady  of  the 
house  of  Querouaille,  whom  our  rude  ancestors  called 
Madam  Carwell.'* 

Early  in  1670,  she  came  over  to  England  in  the  train  of 


832 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


the  Duchess  of  Orleans,  and  her  fresh  young  charms— she 
was  not  more  than  four-aiid-twentj— her  pleasant  piquant 
talk,  and  her  fascinating  manners  at  once  established  over 
Charles  a  douunion  which  lasted  until  his  death.  Like 
most  Frenchwomen  she  had  a  natural  talent  for  intrigue, 
which  she  applied  successfully  to  English  politics,  fully 
justifying  the  confidence  which  Louis  XIY.  had  reposed 
in  her.  It  was  this  meddling  in  affairs  of  State  which 
excited  the  popular  indignation,  and  it  swelled  the  more 
strondy  against  the  intrusive  courtesan  because  she  was 
also  a  foreigner  and  a  Roman  Catholic.  Of  all  Charles  II.'s 
mistresses,  she  was  the  most  bitterly  hated.  The  savagery 
of  the  lampoons  directed  against  her  is  such  that  we  dare 
not  transcribe  them  in  these  pages.  Some  of  them  assail 
her  on  a  point  which  a  vain  woman  would  feel  acutely. 
Of  the  few  which  are  quotable,  one  appeared  in  1682, 
and  was  supposed  to  be  written  under  her  portrait: — 

"  Who  can  on  this  picture  look, 
And  not  straight  be  wonder-struck, 
That  Buch  a  sneaking  dowdy  thing, 
Should  make  a  beggar  of  a  king  ? 
These  happy  nations  turn  to  tears, 
And  all  their  former  love  to  fears. 
Ruin  the  great,  and  raise  the  small, 
Yet  will  by  turns  betray  them  all. 
Lowly  bom  and  meanly  bred, 
Yet  of  this  nation  is  the  head : 
For  half  Whitehall  make  her  their  court, 
Though  th'  other  half  make  her  their  sport. 
Monmouth's  tamer,  Jeffrey's  advance, 
Foe  to  England,  spy  to  France  ; 
False  and  foolish,  proud  and  bold. 
Ugly,  as  you  see,  and  old." 

In  August,  1673,  Louise  was  created  Baroness  of  Peters- 
field,  Countess  of  Farnham,  and  Duchess  of  Portsmouth. 
At  the  same  time  le  grand  Monarque  acknowledged  the 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


333 


value  of  her  services  by  conferring  on  her  the  Duchy  of 
Aubigny.  In  1675  her  son  by  the  king  was  made  Duke 
of  Eichmond  and  Lennox.  Her  wealth  was  enormous  ; 
no  place  of  emolument  or  trust  about  the  Court  could  be 
disposed  of  until  a  bribe  had  been  placed  in  her  rapacious 
hands;  Charles  lavished  liberal  gifts  upon  her,  and  she 
received  from  the  French  Court  a  handsome  "  retaining 
fee."  The  evidences  of  her  good  fortune  rapidly  accumu- 
lated about  her,  and  her  apartments  at  Whitehall  were 
crowded  with  costly  objects.  In  Evelyn's  Diary  we 
find  a  graphic  description  of  her  boudoir,  which,  in  its 
suniptuousness,  was  fitted  for  any  Eastern  Sultana: — 
"Following  his  Majesty  through  the  gallery,  I  went,^'  he 
says,  "with  the  few  who  attended  him  into  the  Duchess 
of  Portsmouth's  dressing-room  within  her  bedchamber, 
where  she  was  in  her  morning  loose  garment,  her  maids 
combing,  newly  out  of  her  bed,  his  Majesty  and  the 
gallants  standing  about  her;  but  that  which  engaged 
my  curiosity  was  the  rich  and  splendid  furniture  of  this 
woman's  apartment,  now  twice  or  thrice  pulled  down  and 
rebuilt  to  satisfy  her  prodigal  and  expensive  pleasures, 
while  her  Majesty's  does  not  exceed  some  gentlemen's 
wives'  in  furniture  and  accommodation.  Here  I  saw  the 
new  fabric  of  French  tapestry,  for  design,  tenderness  of 
work,  and  incomparable  imitation  of  the  best  paintings, 
beyond  anything  I  had  ever  beheld.  Some  pieces  had 
Versailles,  St.  Germain's,  and  other  palaces  of  the  French 
King,  with  huntings,  figures,  and  landscapes,  exotic  fowls, 
and  all  to  the  life,  rarely  done.  Then  for  Japan  cabinets, 
screens,  pendule  clocks,  great  vases  of  wrought  plate, 
tables,  stands,  chimney  furniture,  sconces,  branches, 
brasiers,  etc.,  all  of  massive  silver,  and  out  of  number ; 


334 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


besides  some  of  his  Majesty's  best  paintings" — wbicli 
bad  been  removed  from  the  Queen's  rooms  to  adorn  the 
lodgings  of  the  mistress. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  but  that  Charles's  conversion 
to  Romanism  was  in  a  large  measure  due  to  the  influence 
of  the  Duchess  ;  and  it  was  through  her  prompt  and 
earnest  action  that  he  received  on  his  death-bed  the 
Sacrament  according  to  the  rites  of  the  Church  of  Rome. 
In  an  interview  with  Barillon,  the  French  Ambassador, 
she  revealed  to  him  the  secret  of  the  King's  religious 
profession.  "  I  have/'  she  said  to  him,  "  a  thing  of  great 
moment  to  tell  jou.  If  it  were  known,  my  head  would  he 
in  danger.  The  King  is  really  and  truly  a  Catholic;  but 
be  will  die  without  being  reconciled  to  the  Church.  His 
bedchamber  is  full  of  Protestant  clergymen.  I  cannot 
utter  it  without  giving  scandal.  The  Duke  is  thinking 
only  of  himself.  Speak  to  him.  Remind  him  that  there 
is  a  soul  at  stake.  He  is  master  now.  He  can  clear  the 
room.  Go  this  instant,  or  it  will  be  too  late."  Barillon 
acted  upon  her  advice;  Father  Huddleston  was  smnggled 
into  the  chamber  of  death,  and  administered  the  Eucharist 
to  the  dying  King. 

On  his  death-bed  Charles  commended  the  Duchess  to 
his  brother's  protection,  and  when  his  natural  children 
were  brought  to  receive  liis  blessing,  it  was  observed  that 
he  bestowed  it  with  special  earnestness  on  his  son  by  the 
Duchess.  His  affection  for  her,  the  Duchess  seems  to 
have  reciprocated  with  some  degree  of  sincerity ;  and  her 
grief  at  his  death  was  not  wliolly  selfish.  She  retired  to 
France  with  the  spoils  she  had  gathered  ;  but  her  love  of 
the  gaming-table  soon  reduced  her  to  beggary,  and  but 
for  a  pension  from  the   French   Government   she  must 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


335 


have  starved.  She  preserved  until  late  in  life  the  remark- 
able personal  charms  which  had  won  the  favour  of  a 
king.  In  her  old  age  she  was  distinguished  by  her 
rigorous  discharge  of  her  religious  duties,  and  the  com- 
pleteness of  her  repentance  for  the  follies  and  failings  of 
her  early  career.  To  speak  the  truth,  she  was  certainly 
the  most  discreet  of  Charles  II. 's  mistresses,  and  excites 
the  least  repugnance. 

It  is  said  that  in  1715  she  paid  a  visit  to  England,  and 
was  presented  to  Queen  Caroline,  then  Princess  of  Wales. 
She  survived  Charles  II.  for  nearly  fifty  years,  dying  at  the 
age  of  eighty-eight,  at  Aubigny,  in  France,  in  November, 
1734. 

One  of  the  most  conspicuous  figures  in  the  clironique 
scandaleuse  of  the  time — not,  it  must  be  admitted,  throuo*!! 
any  special  degree  of  frailty  on  her  own  part — was  the 
beautiful  Frances  Theresa  Stewart,  afterwards  Duchess  of 
Richmond. 

A  daughter  of  Walter  Stewart,  son  of  Walter,  second 
Lord  Blantyre,  she  was  born  about  1647,  and  educated  in 
France,  whence  she  came  over  to  England  in  1G62,  with 
her  mother,  as  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  Dowager  Queen, 
Henrietta  Maria.  Pepys  was  informed  by  Evelyn  that 
Louis  XIY.  would  fain  have  detained  her  in  France, 
''  saying  that  he  loved  her,  not  as  a  mistress,  but  as  one 
that  would  marry  as  well  as  any  lady  in  France."  Her 
mother,  however,  desired  for  her  a  different  kind  of  pre- 
ferment, and  with  her  natural  charms  enhanced  by  the 
graces  derivable  from  a  French  training,  she  burst  upon 
the  astonished  Court  a  vision  of  splendid  and  unequalled 
beauty.  She  was  almost  immediately  appointed  maid-of- 
honour  to  Queen  Catherine.     The  King  fell  at  once  a 


336 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


337 


1^1" 


victim  to  her  loveliness,  and  seems  to  liave  felt  for  tbis 
fair  young  creature  a  stronger  and  deeper  passion  than 
any  other  woman  ever  inspired  in  him.  Lady  Castle- 
maine  did  not  fail  to  notice  this  attachment ;  but  favoured 
instead  of  seeking  to  combat  it,— either  because  slie 
did  not  think  it  necessary  to  be  jealous  of  a  girl  of 
sixteen,  or  that  she  was  too  confident  in  her  influence 
over  the  King.  She  not  only  showed  no  uneasiness  at 
the  royal  infiituation,  but  affected  to  make  Miss 
Stewart  her  friend  and  companion,  invited  her  to  all 
her  entertainments,  and  often  kept  her  to  sleep.  As  it 
was  Charles's  daily  habit  to  visit  the  Countess  before  she 
rose,  he  usually  found  Miss  Stewart  in  bed  with  her. 
These  opportunities  inflamed  his  passion,  which  soon 
became  the  common  talk  of  the  Court.  "The  King," 
says  Pepys,  writing  in  1603,  "is  now  become  besotted 
with  Miss  Stewart,  getting  her  into  corners,  and  will  be 
with  her  half  an  hour  together,  kissing  her,  to  the  obser- 
vation of  all  the  world  ;  and  she  now  stays  by  lierself,  and 
expects  it,  as  my  Lady  Castlemaine  did  use  to  do."  A 
girl  of  sixteen  might  well  be  flattered  and  beguiled  by  the 
passionate  devotion  of  a  king ;  but  it  says  much  for  her 
prudence  and  resolution  that  though  she  yielded  to  his 
caresses  beyond  the  limits  of  decorum,  she  at  least  pre- 
served her  honour. 

Of  her  beauty  there  can  be  no  doubt.  Not  only  the 
picture  by  Lely,  but  the  cast  made  by  Roettiere,  the  en- 
graver of  the  mint,  as  well  as  the  testimony  of  her  con- 
temporaries, establishes  this  fact.  Hamilton,  who  did 
Bot  like  her,  and  always  writes  of  her  in  a  spiteful  strain, 
is  compelled,  Balaam-like,  to  praise  where,  evidently,  he 
would  have  been  glad  to  have   depreciated :— "  It  was 


hardly  possible,"  he  says,  "for  a  woman  to  have  less  wit 
or  more  beauty ;  all  her  features  were  fine  and  reo"ular. 
but  her  shape  was  not  good."  Yet  he  admits  that 
<'she  was  slender,  straight  enough,  and  taller  than  the 
generality  of  women.  She  was  very  graceful,  danced  well, 
and  spoke  French  better  than  her  mother-tongue ;  she  was 
well-bred,  and  possessed  in  perfection  that  air  of  dress 
which  is  so  much  admired,  and  is  very  rarely  attained, 
unless  acquired  when  young  in  France."  She  rode  as  one 
to  the  manner  born.  Pepys  saw  her,  on  one  occasion, 
returning  with  the  Court  from  a  ride  :  "  I  followed  thern,^* 
he  says,  "  into  Whitehall,  and  into  the  Queen's  presence, 
where  all  the  ladies  walked,  talking  and  fiddling  with 
their  hats  and  feathers,  and  changing  and  tryino-  one 
another's  by  one  another's  heads,  and  laughing.  But  it 
was  the  finest  sight  to  me,  considering  their  great  beauty 
and  dress,  that  ever  I  did  see  in  all  my  life.  But,  above 
all,  Miss  Stewart  in  this  dress,  with  her  hat  cocked  and 
a  red  plume,  with  her  sweet  eye,  little  Roman  nose,  and 
excellent  taille,  is  now  the  greatest  beauty  I  ever  saw,  I 
think,  in  my  life." 

It  is  a  mere  truism  to  say  that  the  rarest  personal  graces 
are  not  always  accompanied  by  extraordinary  intellectual 
gifts;  but,  if  Anthony  Hamilton  may  be  credited,  "la 
belle  Stewart "  was  little  better  than  a  beautiful  simpleton. 
We  must  remember,  however,  that  Hamilton,  as  we  have 
already  hinted,  writes  about  her  with  a  spitefulness  which 
suggests  that  he  had  received  a  rebuff  at  her  hands,  and, 
therefore,  is  hardly  a  credible  witness.  Further,  that  she 
was  barely  twenty  when  she  was  married,  and  that  from  a 
lively  maiden  in  her  "  teens  "  one  does  not,  as  a  rule, 
expect  either  much  wisdom  of  utterance  or  demureness  of 

VOL,   I.  Z 


ooO 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  J 


behaviour.    According  to  Hamilton,  she  laughed  at  every, 
thing— the  world  had  treated  her  so  kindly  that  she  had 
no  cause  for  sighs  or  tears  !— and  her  liking  for  frivolous 
amusements,  though  sincere,  was  allowable  only  in  a  girl 
about  twelve  or  thirteen  years  old.     To  blind-man's  buff 
she  was  exceedingly  partial.     She  would  divert  herself  by 
building  castles  of  cards— "as  playful  children  use"— 
while  the  deepest  play  was  going  on  in  her  apartments— 
where  she  sat  surrounded  by  eager  courtiers,  who  handed 
her  the  cards ;  or  by  young  castle-builders,  who  endea- 
voured to  imitate  her  skill.     After  all,  she  turned  her 
cards  to  greater  advantage  than  did  the  gamblers,  who 
lost  by  them  reputation  and  fortune  ! 

Hamilton  admits  that  she  had  a  passion  for  music,  and 
had  some  taste  for  singing ;  and  the  Duke  of  Buckingham 
profited  by  these  inclinations  to  recommend  himself  to  the 
young  Beauty's  notice.  He  had  a  fine  voice,  and  as  she  de- 
lighted in  his  songs,  he  became  her  particular  favourite. 
His  entertaining  stories,  his  hon-mots,  his  clever  mimicry, 
all  served  so  agreeably  pour  passer  le  temps,  that  whenever 
he  kept  away  from  the  royal  apartments,  she  sent  all  over 
the  town  in  search  of  him.     At  last  he  presumed  on  this 
partiality  to  make  love  to  her,  but  soon  discovered  how 
little  impression  he  had  made  on  her  heart,  and  met  with 
a  distinct  and  severe   repulse.      George  Hamilton  was 
equally  unsuccessful.     So  was  Francis  Digby,  son  of  the 
Earl  of  Bristol,  who,  it  is  said,  was  so  depressed  by  his 
failure,  that  he  flung  away  the  life  which  he  no  longer 
valued  in  the  great  sea-fight  with  the  Dutch  in  1672. 

Meanwhile,  the  King's  passion  for  her  daily  increased. 
It  was  rumoured  that  he  at  one  time  contemplated  a 
divorce  from  his  Queen  with  the  view  of  raising  the 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


339 


beautiful  Stewart  to  the  throne ;  and  when  Catherine  of 
Braganza  fell  dangerously  ill  in  October,  1663,  the 
courtiers,  by  their  additional  respect,  showed  what  was 
the  universal  expectation.  The  Queen  recovered,  and 
Frances  Stewart  lost  her  chance  of  a  queen  consort's 
crown.  The  King^s  attentions,  however,  did  not  relax ; 
and  at  length  were  urged  with  a  dishonourable  persistency 
which  she  found  it  more  and  more  difficult  to  evade  or 
resist.  She  listened,  therefore,  with  some  degree  of 
pleasure  to  the  impassioned  pleading  of  Charles  Stewart, 
Duke  of  Eichmond,  who  could  claim  a  distant  relation- 
ship to  the  King,  and  whose  high  rank  made  him  no 
unsuitable  pretender  to  the  highest  alliance.  Charles  was 
greatly  vexed  by  this  new  aspect  of  affairs ;  and  endea- 
voured to  divert  the  Duke  from  his  purpose  by  intimating 
that  the  marriage  could  not  be  permitted  unless  he  settled 
on  the  bride  a  suitable  dowry,  and  he  named  a  sum  which 
he  knew  the  Duke  could  not  command.  Meanwhile,  he 
privately  offered  to  the  lady  to  make  her  a  Duchess,  with 
an  adequate  income;  and  to  dismiss  the  Duchess  of 
Cleveland  and  all  his  other  mistresses.  Whether  through 
prudence,  or  some  worthier  motive,  the  Beauty  refused  to 
accept  the  wages  of  shame ;  and  the  Duke  having  formally 
offered  his  hand,  she  accepted  it,  and  prepared  to  brave 
the  King's  anger  by  a  clandestine  marriage. 

It  was  under  these  circumstances  that  the  Duchess  of 
Cleveland  intervened  in  the  little  drama,  with  the  hope  of 
inflicting  a  blow  on  her  handsome  and  fortunate  rival. 
Charles,  one  evening,  having  been  somewhat  summarily 
dismissed  from  la  belle  Stewart's  apartments,  the  Duchess 
took  advantage  of  his  angry  and  jealous  mood  to  suggest 
that  his  dismissal  had  been  intended  only  to  prepare  for 


340 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


341 


III! 


t 


the  reception  of  the  Duke  of  Eichmond ;  and  persuaded 
him  to  ascertain  for  himself  whether  her  suggestion  was 
not  well-founded.     What  happened  is  described  by  Count 
Hamilton,  and  the  scene  is  one  which  in  a  comedy  of 
intrigue  would  infinitely  amuse  the  audience.     We  see 
the  Duchess  leading  Charles  by  the  hand,  and  dragging 
him  somewhat  reluctantly  towards  her  rival's  chambers. 
It   is   near    midnight;    and    through    the    dim-lighted 
gallery  the  King  creeps  with  hesitating  steps,   not  un- 
conscious that  he  is   on   an  unldngly  errand.     At   the 
fair  Stewart's  bedchamber,  the  Duchess  leaves  him.     His 
lady-love's  attendants   respectfully  oppose  his  entrance, 
whispering  that  their  mistress  had    been  ill  since  his 
Majesty  left  her,  but  that,  having  retired  to  bed,  she  is 
now,  most  happily,  in  a  very  fine  sleep.     "  That  I  must 
see  ! "  exclaims  the  King,  and  he  pushes  back  the  maid 
who  stands  in  his  way.     That  Mistress  Stewart  is  in  bed 
is,  to  be  sure,  quite  true  ;  but  alas  !  far  from  being  asleep, 
she  is  very  wide  awake,  and  listening  to  the  Duke  of  Eich- 
mond, who,  seated  at  the  bedside,  is  probably  discussing 
the  details  of  their  intended  elopement.     Tableau  !    The 
King's  swarthy  cheeks  glow  with  the  heat  of  passion,  and 
the  veins  on  his  forehead  swell  almost  to  bursting,  as,  a 
prey  to  jealousy  and  rage,  he  pours  out  his  anger  upon 
the  Duke  in  terms  such  as  Kings  seldom  use  to  their 
powerful    nobles.      The    Thames    flows    close    beneath 
Mistress  Stewart's  bedroom-window,  and  there  is  a  look 
in  Charles's  eyes  as  they  turn  towards  it,  which  warns  the 
Duke  that  his  safest  course  is  to  make  no  reply,  and  with 
a  profound  bow  he  retires.     The  young  Beauty,  however, 
is  less  prudent.     She  assails  the  King  in  the  plainest 
language,  and  vows  that  she  will  dispose  of  her  hand  as- 


she  thinks  proper,  or  will  escape  to  France  and  throw 
herself  into  a  convent.  Her  threats,  her  expostulations,  her 
tears  so  disturb  and  perplex  the  enamoured  King,  that,  at 
length,  he  hurries  from  her  apartment,  to  spend  "the 
most  restless  and  uneasy  night  he  had  experienced  since 
his  Eestoration." 

Next  day,  the  Duke  received  orders  to  quit  the  Court, 
but  he  had  anticipated  them,  and  withdrawn  to  his  country 
seat.  His  intended  bride  sought  the  Queen's  protection, 
and  declared  with  tears  that  she  had  accepted  the  Duke's 
addresses  as  the  only  means  of  retrieving  her  reputation 
and  saving  her  honour.  The  Queen,  however,  with 
singular  want  of  decency,  took  the  King's  side,  and 
besought  the  girl  to  think  no  more  either  of  marriage  or 
a  nunnery.  Eventually,  the  Duke  returned  secretly  to 
London,  and  obtained  an  interview  with  Mistress  Stewart, 
in  which  they  completed  their  plans ;  and  one  stormy 
night,  in  March,  1667,  the  lady  contrived  to  steal  unper- 
ceived  from  her  apartments  at  Whitehall,  and  to  meet  the 
Duke  at  a  small  inn  in  Westminster.  Thence  they  fled 
on  horseback  to  the  Duke's  seat  in  Surrey,  where,  next 
morning,  they  were  married  by  his  chaplain. 

Great  was  Charles's  anger  on  discovering  that  the  bird 
had  flown.  As  he  quitted  her  silent  and  solitary  apart- 
ment, he  fell  in  with  Lord  Cornbury,  who,  as  the  son  of 
Clarendon,  the  Lord  Chancellor,  Frances  Stewart's  trusted 
friend  and  adviser,  he  suspected  of  complicity  in  the  plot. 
He  poured  out  upon  him  the  most  violent  reproaches,  re- 
fusing to  listen  when  he  attempted  to  defend  himself.  In 
the  evening,  however,  his  anger  had  cooled,  and  he  granted 
the  young  nobleman  an  interview  which  proved  satisfac- 
tory to  both.      As   for  the  recalcitrant  bride   and  her 


342 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


343 


»! 


audacious  bridegroom,  lie  banished  tliem  from  tlie  Court, 
declaring  tbat  he  would  never  speak  to  them  again.  With 
a  rare  sense  of  honour,  the  Duchess  immediately  returned 
the  jewels,  which,  at  various  times,  she  had  received  from 

the  King. 

To  her  friends  the  Duchess  volunteered  an  explanation 
of  her  conduct  which  seems  to  us  entirely  credible.  Pepys 
has  recorded  it  in  his  Diary,  under  the  date  of  April  2Gtli, 

1667,  as  thus  : — 

"Mr.  Evelyn  told  me  the  whole  story  of  Mrs.  Stewart's 
going  away  from  Court,  he  knowing  her  well ;  and  believes 
her,  up  to  her  leaving  the  Court,  to  be  as  virtuous  as  any 
wo4an  in  the  world;  and  told  me,  from  a  lord,  that  she 
told  it  to  but  yesterday  with  her  own  mouth,  and  a  sober 
man,  that  when  the  Diike  of  Richmond  did  make  love  to 
her,  she  did  ask  the  King,  and  he  did  the  like  also ;  and 
that  the  King  did  not  deny  it,  and  [she]  told  this  lord 
that  she  was  come  to  this  pass,  that  she  could  not  lonoer 
continue   at   Court   without   prostituting   herself  to  the 
King,  whom  she  had  so  long  kept  off,  though  he  had 
liberty  more  than  any  other  had,  or  he  ought  to  have,  as  to 
dalliance.     She  told  this  lord,  that  she  had  reflected  upon 
the  occasion  she  had  given  to  the  world  to  think  her  a 
bad  woman,  and  that  she  had  no  way  but  to  marry  and 
leave  the  Court,  rather  in  this  way  of  discontent  than 
otherwise,  that  the  world  might  see  that  she  sought  not 
any  thing  but  her  honour ;  and  that  she  will  never  come 
to  live  at  Court,  more  than  when  she  comes  to  kiss  the 
Queen  her  mistress's  hand ;  and  hopes,  though  she  hath 
little  reason  to  hope,  she  can  please  her  lord  so  as  to  re- 
claim him,  that  they  may  yet  live  comfortably  in  the 
country  on  his  estate.     She  told  this  lord  that  all  the 


jewels  she  ever  had  given  her  at  Court,  or  any  other 
presents   (more  than  the  King's  allowance  of  £700  per 
annum  out  of  the  privy-purse  for  her  clothes),  even  at 
her  first  coming,  the  King  did  give  her  a  necklace  of 
pearl  of    about    £1,100;    and   afterwards,   about    seven 
months  since,  when  the  King  had  hopes  to  have  obtained 
some  courtesy  of  her,  the  King  did  give  her  some  jewels, 
I  have  forgot  what,  and  I  think  a  pair  of  pendants.     The 
Duke  of  York,  being  once  her  Valentine,  did  give  her  a 
jewel  of    about   £800;    and  my   Lord  Mandeville,   her 
Valentine  this  year,  a  ring  of  about  £300  ;  and  the  King 
of  France  would  have  had  her  mother  (who,  he  says,  is 
one  of  the  most  cunning  women  in  the  world)  to  have  let 
her  stay  in  France,  saying  that  he  loved  her  not  as  a 
mistress,  but  as  one  that  he  could  marry  as  well  as  any 
lady  in   France ;  and  that,   if  she   might   stay,  for  the 
honour  of  his  Court,  he  would  take  care  that  she  should 
not  repent.     But  her  mother,  by  command  of  the  queen- 
mother,  thought  rather  to  bring  her  into  England ;  and 
the  Kino-  of  France  did  give  her  a  jewel;  so  that  Evelyn 
believes  she  may  be  worth  in  jewels  about  £6,000,  and 
that  this  is  all  she  hath  in  the  world;   and  a  worthy 
woman  ;  and  in  this  hath  done  as  great  an  act  of  honour 
as  ever  was  done  by  woman.  ...  She  is  gone  yesterday 
with  her  lord  to  Cobham." 

About  a  year  after  the  marriage  the  Duchess  was  ap- 
pointed a  lady  of  the  bedchamber  to  Queen  Catherine, 
and  provided  with  apartments  at  Somerset  House. 
Scandal  would  have  it  that  she  proved,  at  the  King's 
instance,  unfaithful  to  her  marriage  vows  ;  but  there  is 
nothing  in  her  conduct  which  would  lead  us  to  believe  it, 
and  the  only  authority  for  it  seems  to  be  a  drunken  boast 


344 


THE  MEERr  MONAECH  ; 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


345 


It 


i 


of  tlie  King's.  She  had  been  married  little  more  than 
two  years  when  her  beauty  was  almost  entirely  destroyed 
by  a  severe  attack  of  small-pox.  It  is  to  Charles's  credit 
that  he  paid  her,  when  thus  disfigured,  attentions  as 
courteous  as,  if  less  ardent  than,  those  he  had  paid  her 
in  the  flush  of  her  maiden  loveliness.  At  the  Court 
of  James  II.  she  was  hekl  in  high  esteem;  was  one  of 
the  ladies  chosen  to  attend  Mary  of  Modena's  accouche- 
ment in  lG88,and  signed  the  certificate  before  the  Council 
of  the  birth  of  the  Prince  of  AYales. 

The  Duchess  was  left  a  widow  in  December,  1672.    She 
herself  survived  until  October  15,  1702. 

"  Now  died  "—writes  Evelyn,  on  the   11th  June,  1G99 
— *'  the  famous  Duchess  of  Mazarin  :    she  had  been  the 
richest  lady   in   Europe.       She   was   niece   to   Cardinal 
Mazarin,   and  was   married   to   the    richest     subject   in 
Europe,  as  is  said.     She  was  born  in  Eome,  educated  in 
France,  and  was  of  extraordinary  beauty  and  wit,  but  dis- 
solute and  impatient  of  matrimonial  restraint,  so  as  to  be 
abandoned  by  her  husband  and  banished,  when  she  came 
into  England  for  shelter  :  she  lived  on  a  pension  given  her 
here,  and  is  reported  to  liave  hastened  her  death  by  in- 
temperate drinking  strong  spirits.     She  has  written  her 
own  story  and  adventures,  and  so  has  her  often  extrava- 
gant sister,  wife  of  the  noble  family  of  Colonnac." 

To  this  outline  of  a  remarkable  career,  we  must  add 
some  details  by  way  of  filling  up. 

Hortensia  Mancini,  born  in  1647,  was  the  daughter  of 
Lorenzo  Mancini,  a  Eoman  noble,  and  of  Jeronyma 
Mazarin,  the  great  Cardinal-minister's  sister.  At  the 
age  of  six  she  was  sent  to  Paris  to  be  educated;  and 
then  displayed  in  her  early  years  the  unrestrained  vivacity 


of  her  temper  and  heedlessness  of  her  disposition.  It  was 
a  favourite  pastime  with  her  to  throw  handfuls  of  gold 
from  the  windows  of  the  Mazarin  palace,  that  she  might 
laugh  at  the  frenzied  eagerness  of  the  mob  to  secure  the 
spoil.  Her  waywardness  was  probably  the  cause  of  the 
vigilant  custody  in  which  the  beautiful,  imperious  girl 
was  kept :  from  which  she  escaped,  however,  when  only 
thirteen,  by  marrying  Armand  Charles  de  la  Porte,  Duke 
de  ]\Leillerage  and  Mayenne,  whom  the  Cardinal  had 
intended  for  her  sister  Marie."^  But  the  Duke  preferred 
the  sprightlier  Hortensia,  and  vowed  that  if  he  did  not 
marry  her  he  should  die  in  three  months.  The  Cardinal 
reluctantly  consented,  making  it  a  condition  that  the 
Duke  and  his  heirs  should  adopt  the  name,  title,  and 
arms  of  Mazarin  for  ever — a  condition  sweetened  to  the 
Duke,  in  the  following  year,  when  Mazarin  left  to  his 
niece  the  immense  fortune  of  (it  is  said)  £1,625,000. 

Never  were  couple  more  unsuited  to  each  other.  The 
Duchess  was  a  wild,  wayward,  adventurous,  and  witty 
young  beauty ;  the  Duke  was  stolid,  dull,  narrow-minded, 
and,  of  course,  jealous.  In  his  way  he  was  a  religious 
enthusiast ;  but  as  his  faculties  were  limited,  his  enthu- 
siasm took  the  shape  of  fanaticism.  He  had  his  visions 
and  his  revelations  from  on  high ;  and  would  rouse  his 
wife  from  her  slumbers  to  partake  of  his  ecstasy,  though 
she,  poor  creature  !  could  not  hear  the  voices  he  professed 
to  hear  nor  see  the  celestial  visitants  he  professed  to  see, 
He  travelled  through  his  estates,  attended  by  an  extraor- 
dinary following  of  persons  as  mad  as  himself,  and  of 
persons  who  for  purposes  of  gain  pretended  to  be  so.     At 

*  The  lovely  and  tender  Marie  de  Mancini,  whom  the  young  King,  Louis  XIV., 
would  fain  have  married :  he  never  forgot  her. 


346 


THE   MEERY  MONARCH; 


length,  after  six  years'  endurance  of  his  eccentricities,  the 
Duchess  quitted  him,  and  instituted  a  suit  against  him  to 
secure  a  legal  separation.    While  it  drew  its  slow  length 
along,  she  lodged,  with  her  friend,  Madame  de  Carrodus, 
who  was   almost  as   gay  and  handsome  as   herself,  in 
different  convents,  being  compelled  to  leave  one  after 
another  through  the  freaks  into  which  their  wild  spirits 
impelled  them.    For  instance,  they  poured  ink  into  the 
eau  Unite,  so  that  the  nuns  blackened  their  faces  when 
they  crossed  themselves.     At  midnight  they  ran  headlong 
through  the  bedrooms,  with  a  number  of  small  dogs  yelp- 
ing and  barking  after  them.     On  one  occasion  they  filled 
two  great  chests  which  were  over  the  dormitory  with 
water ;  it  filtered  through  the  chinks  and  crevices  in  the 
floor,  and  soon  deluged  the  beds  of  the  unfortunate  nuns. 
When  some  of  the  elder  sisters  were  appointed  to  super- 
vise their  actions,  the  reckless  beauties  wearied  them  out, 
one  after  another,  by  incessantly  running  from  place  to 
place,  and  this  as  fast  as  their  nimble  feet  could  carry 
them. 

Unhappy  was  the  convent  which  received  them  as 
inmates  !  Soon  the  reputation  they  acquired  for  harum- 
scarum  conduct  was  so  wide-spread  that  they  found 
every  door  shut  in  their  faces,  and  the  young  Duchess 
— she  was  only  twenty — was  forced  to  return  to 
the  Mazarin  palace,  where,  however,  she  occupied  apart- 
ments separate  from  those  of  her  husband.  She  had 
some  good  reason  to  suppose  that  her  suit  against  her 
husband  would  be  decided  in  his  favour ;  and  determined 
never  again  to  submit  to  his  thraldom,  she  assumed  a 
cavalier's  dress,  and  on  the  night  of  the  14th  of  June, 
1667,  made  her  escape  from  Paris.     Though  orders  were 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


347 


immediately  issued  for  her  arrest,  she  travelled  with  so 
much  rapidity  that  before  they  could  be  executed  she  had 
crossed  the  borders  into  Switzerland,  whence  she  passed 
on  iuto  Italy.  In  almost  every  place  she  and  her  maid,  in 
spite  of  their  male  dress,  were  known  to  be  women ; 
Nanon,  her  attendant,  often  forgetting  her  role,  and 
addressing  her  mistress  as  Madam.  Whether  from  this 
reason,  or  because  her  lovely  face  awakened  suspicion,  the 
people,  when  the  two  wanderers  had  retired  to  their 
apartment,  used  to  watch  through  the  keyhole.  In  this 
way  they  discotered  their  long  tresses,  which,  as  they 
were  exceedingly  inconvenient  under  their  periwigs,  they 
were  glad  to  let  loose  as  soon  as  they  were  at  liberty. 

After  a  series  of  wild  adventures,  and  some  months^ 
residence  at  Eome,  she  returned,  in  disguise,  to  France; 
but  the  fact  becoming  known  to  her  husband's  spies,  she 
was  again  compelled  to  cross  the  frontier,  and  for  nearly 
three  years  she  found  an  asylum  at  Chambery,  in  Savoy. 
Wearying  of  this  life  of  seclusion,  and  attracted  by  the 
fame  of  the  ease  and  freedom  of  the  English  Court,  she 
suddenly  made  her  appearance  in  London  in  December, 
1678.  She  had  passed  her  first  youth,  but  her  matured 
beauty  was  probably  more  fascinating  than  her  earlier 
charms  -,  and  at  all  events,  she  was  soon  in  a  position  to 
say,  "  Vera  J  vidi,  vici/^^  A  poetical  tribute  to  her 
attractions  was  splendidly  paid  her  by  the  septuagenarian 
Waller;  the  gallants  of  the  Court  made  her  their  con- 
stant toast ;  and  the  impressible  Charles,  succumbing  at 
once  to  her  influence,  provided  her  with  apartments  in  St. 
Jameses  Palace,  and  settled  on  her  an  annual  pension  of 

£4,000. 

The  famous  wit,  St.  Evremond,  was  at  that  time  a  resi- 


348 


THE  MEBKT  MONAKCH  ; 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


349 


dent  in  England,  and  attracted  by  the  Duchess  s  talents, 
qnite  as  much  as  by  her  personal  gifts  and  graces,  he  be- 
came,  and   continued    through    life,    her    devoted    and 
respectful  admirer.     When  the   snows  of  many  winters 
had  whitened  his  head,  he  still  paid  her,  with  scrupulous 
homage,  his  regular  morning  visit,  always  carrying  with 
him,  it  is  said,  a  pound  of  butter,  made  in  his  own  miniature 
dairy,  f..r  the  Duchess's  breakfast.    The  Duchess  resided 
at  Chelsea,  in  a  house  by  the  river-side,  and  attracted  to 
her  reunions  the  wit,  the  beauty,  and  the  fashion  of  the 
time      Her  tact,  her  spirituel  vivacity,  her  conversational 
address    made    these    gatherings    especially    delightful 
Every  guest,  says  St.  Evremond,  was  made  to  feel  more  at 
home  than  in  his  own  house,  and  was  treated  with  greater 
respect  than    at  Court.       Discussions,   he    adds,    were 
frequent;  but  they  were  those  of  knowledge  and  not  of 
ancrer     Play  there  was,  but  to  an  inconsiderable  extent, 
and  practised  only  for  amusement.    You  could  not  dis- 
cover in  any  countenance  the  fear  of  losing,  or  anxiety 
for  what  was  lost.     Then   the  Duchess's  petite  soupers 
were  unsurpassed  in  the   variety   and  delicacy  of  their 
dishes,-to  say  nothing  of  the  exquisite  grace  and  skill 
with  which  she  presided,  and  the  fluent  ease  and  bright- 
ness  of  the  conversation  in  which  she  contrived  that  every 
guest  should  appear  to  the  greatest  advantage.  _ 

On  the  -allantries  of  the  Duchess  we  have  no  desire  to 
dwell  •  the°y  seem  to  have  scandalized  even  the  indulgent 
temper  of  her  contemporaries.    As  she  advanced  in  years 
it  would  seem  that  she  gave  way  to  excess  in  wme.     At 
Court  she  maintained  her  influence  to  the  last,  andEvelya 
„.entions  her  as  foremost  among  the  gay  -^  b^" 
groups  whom  he  saw  in  the  great  Gallery  of  Whitehall  on 


the  Sunday  evening  before  tlie  King's  death..  There  sate 
Charles,  "toying"  with  the  three  Beauties  who  had  suc- 
cessively caught  his  fickle  fancy.  Barbara  Palmer, 
Duchess  of  Cleveland,  still  retaining  traces  of  the  superb 
and  voluptuous  charms  which,  twenty  years  before,  all 
hearts  had  found  irresistible;  the  Duchess  of  Ports- 
mouth, with  her  lovely  baby-face  lighted  up  by  the 
vivacity  of  France;  and  Hortensia,  the  witty  and  en- 
chanting niece  of  the  great  French  Cardinal.  Says 
Macaulay,  in  one  of  his  picturesque  passages  : — "She  had 
been  early  moved  from  her  native  Italy  to  tlie  court  where 
her  uncle  was  supreme.  His  power  and  her  own  attract- 
tions  had  drawn  a  crowd  of  illustrious  suitors  round  her. 
Charles  himself,  during  his  exile,  had  sought  her  hand  in 
vain.  No  srift  of  nature  or  of  fortune  seemed  to  be  want- 
ing  to  her.  Her  face  was  beautiful  with  the  rich  beauty 
of  the  South,  her  understanding  quick,  her  manners  grace- 
ful, her  rank  exalted,  her  possessions  immense  ;  but  her 
ungovernable  passions  had  turned  all  these  blessings  into 
curses.  She  had  found  the  misery  of  an  ill-assorted 
marriage  intolerable,  had  fled  from  her  husband,  had 
abandoned  her  vast  wealth,  and  after  having  astonished 
Rome  and  Piedmont  by  her  adventures,  had  fixed  her 
abode  in  England.  Her  house  was  the  favourite  resort  of 
men  of  wit  and  pleasure,  who  for  the  sake  of  her  smiles 
and  her  tables,  endured  her  frequent  fits  of  insolence  and 
ill-humour.  Eochester  and  Godolphin  sometimes  forgot 
the  cares  of  State  in  her  company.  Barillon  and  St. 
Evremond  found  in  her  drawing-room  consolation  for 
their  long  banishment  from  Paris.  The  learning  of 
Vossius,  the  wit  of  Waller,  were  daily  emj^loyed  to  flatter 
and  amuse  her.     But  her  diseased  mind  required  stronger 


550 


THE   MEREY   MONAKCH. 


stimulants,  and  sought  tliem  in  gallantry,  in  basset,  and 
in  usquebaugh." 

Both  at  the  Courts  of  James  II.  and  William  HI.,  the 
Duchess  was  received  with  courtesy ;  but  her  later  years 
were  disturbed  by  the  sharp  pressure  of  poverty.     She 
seems  to  have  depended  mainly  on  the  contributions  of 
wealthy   and  liberal  intimates.      It  is  on  record  that, 
throughout  her  long  residence  in  Chelsea,  she  was  in 
arrears  for  the  payment  of  her  poor-rates ;  though  at  the 
same  time  it  would  appear  that  she  denied  herself  none  of 
the  agremens  of  the  table.     After  her  death  her  body  was 
actually  arrested  at  the  suit  of  her  creditors.     Worn  out 
by  a  life  of  excitement  and  dissipation,  she  died  on  the 
2nd  of  June,  1699,  in  the  53rd  year  of  her  age  ;  and  there 
were  none  to  utter  a  sigh  of  regret  over  her  grave  except 
St.   Evremond,   whose  lament   was   worthy  both  of  the 
dead   woman  of    pleasure  and  the  living  voluptuary  :— 
"  Had  she  been  alive,"  he  writes  to  a  friend,  ''  she  would 
have  had  peaches,  of  which  I  should  not  fail  to  have 
shared,  and  truffles,  which  she  and  I  would  have  eaten 
together  ;  not  to  speak  of  the  carps  of  Newhall." 


JOHN   DEYDEN. 


CHAPTER  V. 


JOHN      DR  YD  EN . 


In  the  postscript  to  liis  translation  of  Virgil,  Drjden  says  : 
— ''  The  seventh  iEneid  was  made  English  at  Burghlej, 
the  magnificent  abode  of  the  Earl  of  Exeter  ;  in  a  village 
belonging  to  his  family  I  was  born."  This  village,  it  is 
now  understood^  was  Oldwinkle  St.  Peter^s,  in  Northamp- 
tonshire. There  is  some  uncertainty  as  to  the  date  of  the 
poet's  birth  ;  but  in  the  old  inscription  on  his  monument 
in  Westminster  Abbey  it  was  stated  to  have  been  the  9th 
of  August,  1631.  The  present  inscription  makes  it  a  year 
later.  His  early  education  he  received  at  Tichmarsh  or  at 
Oundle,  whence  he  was  removed  to  Westminster  School 
and  placed  under  the  charge  of  the  celebrated  Dr.  Eichard 
Busby.  Of  this  austere  pedagogue  he  cherished  in  after 
life  a  grateful  memory,  and  he  dedicated  to  him  his  version 
of  the  5th  Satire  of  Persius.  Lilce  many  other  schoolboys 
he  seems  to  have  dabbled  freely  in  verse-making,  but  his 
early  compositions  bear  witness  to  his  poetical  tastes 
rather  than  to  any  measure  of  poetical  capacity.  He  was 
entered  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  on  the  18th  of 
May,  1650,  and  admitted  to  his  B.A.  degree  in  January, 


TOL.   I. 


AA 


354 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


1654.  Of  his  undergraduate  career  only  a  single  inci- 
dent is  recorded.  In  some  way  or  other  he  had  offended 
one  of  the  ruling  powers,  and  it  was  therefore  ordered  that 
€i  Dryden  be  put  out  of  comons  for  a  fortnight,  at  least, 
and  that  he  goe  not  out  of  the  colledge  during  the  time 
aforesaid,  excepting  to  sermons,  without  express  leave  fro 
the  Master  or  Vice-master,  and  that  at  the  end  of  the 
fortniorht  he  read  a  confession  of  his  crime  in  the  hall  at 
dinner-time,  at  the  three  Fellows'  tables.  His  crime,"  it 
is  added,  "  was  his  disobedience  to  the  Vice-master,  and 
his  contumacy  in  taking  of  his  punishment  inflicted  by 
Mm."  Who  were  his  friends,  or  what  were  his  amuse- 
ments, what  books  he  read,  or  what  studies  he  chiefly 
affected — on  these  points,  unfortunately,  we  have  no  in- 
formation; and  we  are  unable,  therefore,  to  trace  the 
development  of  his  intellectual  faculties. 

By  the  death  of  his  father,  in  June,  1G54,  he  succeeded 
to  the  small  estate  of  Blakesly,  which  was  worth  about 
£90  or  £1U0  per  annum,  but  on  a  third  of  it  his  mother 
had  a  life-charge.  He  continued,  however,  to  reside  at 
the  University  for  three  years  more.  His  long  vacations 
lie  spent  in  Northamptonsliire,  and  they  afforded  him  an 
opportunity  of  falling  in  love  with  his  cousin.  Honor 
Driden,  the  daughter  of  his  father's  elder  brother,  a 
Puritan  of  extreme  principles,  Sir  John  Driden,  of  Canons- 
Ashby.  Nothing  came  of  the  wooing,  and  in  1657  Dryden 
removed  to  London,  where  he  seems  to  have  acted  as 
secretary  to  Sir  Gilbert  Pickering.  In  the  following  year 
died  the  great  Protector ;  and  the  ambitious  young  man 
made  haste  to  come  before  the  public  in  the  character  of 
his  eulogist,  publishing  with  little  delay  his  "  Heroic 
Stanzas  on  the  Death  of  Oliver  Cromwell."    In  comment- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


355 


ing  upon  which,  Mitford  remarks  that  the  poet's  ideas  are 
laboured,  and  his  inventions  curious,  and  that  no  marks 
are  apparent  of  "  the  luxuriance  of  early  genius,  or  the 
overflow  of  a  mind  full  of  poetry."  But  already  we  see  in 
them  that  strength  of  versification,  that  manly  vigour  of 
expression,  and  that  sonorous  rhetoric  which  were  after- 
wards to  become  the  prominent  characters  of  his  poetry. 
No  one  can  fail  to  discover  the  force  and  energy  of  such 
stanzas  as  the  following  :  — 

"  His  grandeur  he  derived  from  Heaven  alone  ; 
For  he  was  great,  ere  fortune  made  him  so: 
And  wars,  like  mists  that  rise  against  the  sun, 
Make  him  but  greater  seem,  not  gt-eater  grow." 

"  Fame  of  the  asserted  sea  through  Europe  blown, 
Made  France  and  Spain  ambitious  of  his  love  ; 
Each  knew  that  side  must  cou(iuer  he  would  own  ; 
And  for  him  fiercely,  as  for  empire,  strove." 

"  His  ashes  in  a  peaceful  urn  shall  rest. 
His  name  a  great  example  stands,  to  show 
How  strangely  high  endeavours  uiay  be  blest, 
Where  piety  and  valour  jointly  go." 

The  Eestoration  put  an  abrupt  end  to  any  hopes  of 
fame  or  fortune  Avhicli  Dryden  may  have  founded  on  his 
family  influence.  Left  to  his  own  resources  he  discarded 
the  Puritanism  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up,  and 
assumed  with  opportune  facility  the  manners  and  morals 
of  the  new  order.  The  poet  who  had  laid  no  unworthy 
funeral  wreath  on  the  tomb  of  the  great  Protector  has- 
tened to  throw  a  poetical  garland  at  the  feet  of  Charles  II. 
in  his  "  Astrsea  Eedux."  In  his  change  of  opinions,  how- 
ever, it  is  probable  that  he  was  sincere.  His  temper  was 
naturally  conservative,  and  by  the  bent  of  his  genius  he 
was  inclined  to  uphold  the  principle  of  authority  and 
defend  the  majesty  of  law.  The  anarchical  condition  of  the 


856 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


country  during  tlie  interv^al  that  elapsed  between  tlie 
death  of  Cromwell  and  the  restoration  of  Charles  II. 
would  necessarily  repel  and  disgust  him ;  and  he  would 
welcome  a  change  that  promised  the  advantages  of  a 
settled  government.  "  Astrsea  Eedux ''  is  by  no  means  a 
great  poem,  but  it  contains  some  fine  lines.  As,  for 
example : — 

"Heir  to  his  father's  sorrows,  with  his  crown." 

"  As  Heaven  itself  is  took  by  violence." 

"Thus  pencils  can  by  one  slight  touch  restore 
Smiles  to  that  changed  face  that  wept  before." 

"  Suffered  to  live,  they  are  like  Helots  set, 
A  virtuous  shame  within  us  to  beget." 

''  Astraea  Eedux  "  was  published  by  Herringman,  the 
bookseller,  and  through  this  connection  Dryden  probably 
made   the  acquaintance   of  Sir  Eobert  Howard,   whose 
sister,  the  Lady  Elizabeth,  he  afterwards  married.     He 
prefixed  to  Sir  Eobert^s  poems,  when  issued  by  Herring- 
man  in  IGGO,  some  commendatory  verses.     About  ]May  or 
June,  lGGl,his  industrious  pen  produced  a  "  Panegyric  to 
his   Sacred   Majesty  on  his  Coronation";  and  on  New 
Year's  Day  a  poem  to  the  Lord  Chancellor,  Hyde,  Earl  of 
Clarendon,  in  which  may  be  perceived  that  copiousness 
of  encomium  and  fertility  of  flattery   which  distinguish 
Dryden   beyond   all  other  poets.     For  no  one  has  ever 
equalled  him    in    the  heartiness,    the   fulness,    and  the 
splendid  exaggeration  of  his  praise.  There  is  no  stint  in  it, 
and  no  meanness ;  it  rolls  onward  in  a  rich  and  golden 

flood. 

The  first  indication  of  his  powers  as  a  satirist,  which 
were  not  less  remarkable  than  liis  genius  as  a  panegyrist, 
we  find  in  his  ''Satire   on   the   Dutch"  (1GG2),   after- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


357 


wards  worked  up  into  the  prologue  and  epilogue  of  his 
play  "Amboyna."  It  contains  none  of  the  wit  or 
humour  with  which  Marvell  and  Butler  invested  the  same 
subject,  but  is  almost  savage  in  its  vehemence.  "  Think," 
he  says — 


(( 


Think  on  tlieir  rapine,  falsehood,  cruelty, 

And  that  what  once  they  were,  they  still  would  be. 

To  one  well  born  the  affront  is  worse  and  more, 

When  he's  abused  and  baffled  by  a  boor. 

With  tin  ill  grace  the  Dutch  their  mischief s  do; 

They've  both  ill  nature  and  ill  manners  too.  .  .  . 

Venetians  do  not  more  uncouthly  ride, 

Than  did  their  lubber  state  mankind  bestride. 

Their  sway  became  'em  with  as  ill  a  mien, 

As  their  own  paunches  swell  above  their  chin." 


It  is  only  the  savage  strength  of  these  couplets  that 
redeems  them  from  vulgar  insolence.  The  indefatigable 
penman,  however,  had  not  yet  discovered  his  true  metier  ; 
and  the  Eestoration  having  re-opened  the  gates  of  the 
theatre,  he  proposed  to  himself  to  acquire  distinction— 
and  competency— as  a  dramatist.  In  another  chapter  we 
have  treated  of  Dryden's  plays  at  considerable  length: 
here,  therefore,  we  shall  limit  ourselves  to  a  reference  to 
their  chronological  order.  But  on  the  general  subject  we 
would  venture  the  remark  that  while  these  plays  force 
upon  us  a  conviction  of  their  author's  fertility  of  resource, 
wonderful  command  of  language,  keen  observation,  and 
intellectual  apitude,  they  do  not  the  less  strongly  impress 
us  with  the  feeling  that  he  was  not  by  nature  intended 
to  be  a  great  dramatist.  He  could  invent,  but  he  could 
not  create;  and  this  is  just  the  difference  between  the 
playwright  and  the  dramatist.  Of  all  the  characters  which 
flicker  faintly  through  his  comedies  and  tragedies  not 
one  has  had  in  it  life  enough  to  survive  Dryden's  own 


358 


THE    MEEKY  MONARCH  ; 


time.     Of  all  the  full-moiitlied  couplets  wliicli  he  poured 
out  so  freely  in  his  dramas,  how  many  do  we  remember  ? 
Has  the  popular  memory  taken  up  a  single  stroke  of  wit 
or  burst  of  humour?     There  is   no  doubt  that  Dryden 
himself,  with  his  wit  and  accurate  critical  judgment,  was 
conscious  of  his  failure.     It  has  been  well  said  that  ''  he 
could  not  be  imaginative  in  tlie  highest  dramatic  sense, 
but  the  need  of  imaginativeness  pressed  on  him  "  as  it  did 
not  press   on  his  brother   playwrights.     ''He  could   not 
reach  the  sublime,  but  neither  could  he  content  himself  as 
they  did  with  the  prosaic  ;  he  rants,  fumes,  and  talks  wild 
bombast   in   the   vain   effort   after   sublimity."     In    like 
manner  he  aspired  to  be  witty,   but  succeeded  only  in 
making  his  characters  talk  flippantly.     When  he  would 
be  humorous,  he  could  find  no  other  subject  than  the 
sexual  passions ;  and  instead  of  being  humorous,  became 
brutally  coarse.    His  heart  was  not  in  his  dramatic  work; 
he  had  taken  to  it,  because  it  paid ;  and  this  is  not  a 
motive  which  brings  out  a  man's  highest  powers. 

"In  the  year  of  his  Majesty's  happy  restoration," 
writes  Dryden,  "  the  first  play  I  undertook  was  the  Duke 
of  Guise,  as  the  fairest  way  which  the  Act  of  Indemnity 
had  then  left  us  of  setting  forth  the  rise  of  the  late 
rebellion,  and  by  exploding  the  villaiiies  of  it  upon  the 
stage,  to  precaution  posterity  against  the  like  errors." 
The  poet's  friends,  however,  did  not  think  well  of  his 
dramatic  effort ;  he  laid  it  aside  in  deference  to  their 
adverse  criticisms,  and  tried  his  hand  in  the  humbler 
walk  of  comedy.  "The  Wild  Gallant ''  was  played  in 
February,  1663,  but  proved  a  fiiilure.  Says  Mr.  Pepys  : 
« It  was  ...  so  poor  a  thing  as  ever  I  saw  in  my  life 
almost,  and  so  little  answering  the  name,  that  from  the 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


359 


beginning  to  the  end  I  could  not,  nor  can  at  this  time, 
tell  certainly  which  was  the  '  Wild  Gallant ' !  "     It  was, 
perhaps,  in  a  spirit  of  contradiction  that  the  Duchess  of 
Cleveland    (then  only  Lady  Castlemaine)  bestowed   her 
patronage  upon  the  unfortunate   comedy,  and   procured 
that  it  should  be  more  than  once  acted  by  the  King's 
command;  but  the  kindness  was  not  forgotten  by  Dryden, 
ajid  he  addressed  to  -  the  bold,  bad  beauty  '^  some  stanzas 
full  of  his  characteristic  profuseness  of  adulation.     In  his 
preface  to  the  published  play,  he  honestly  admits  his  want 
of  success :  "  It  was  the  first  attempt  I  made  in  dramatic 
poetry,  and,  I  find  since,  a  very  bold  one,  to  begin  with 
comedy,  which  is  the  most  difficult  part  of  it.     The  best 
apology  I  can  make  for  it,  and  the  truest,  is  only  this,  that 
you  have,  since  that  time,  received  with  applause  as  bad 
and  asuncorrect  plays  from  other  men." 

It  is  said  that  Dryden  lived  the  life  of  a  libertine  ;  that 
like  the  men  of  his  day  he  indulged  to  the  utmost  in  the 
reaction  against  Puritanism ;  but  his  debaucheries,  how- 
ever gross  and  frequent,  aftected  neither  his  intellectual 
vigour  nor  his  magnificent  perseverance.     He  had  deter- 
mined to  be  accepted  as  a  successful  writer  for  the  stage  ; 
and  undiscouragedby  the  failure  of  his  initial  attempt,  he 
again  faced  the  public,  before  the  end  of  the  year,  with  a 
tragi-comedy,  -  The  Eival  Ladies."     In  this  the  tragic 
scenes  are  written  in  rhyme,  and  the   lighter  in  blank 
verse :  thus  Dryden's  great  powers  of  versification  were 
brought  into  play,  and  they  at  once  extorted  from  the 
audience    a    gracious     recognition.      The    indefatigable 
dramatist  was  at  this  time  collaborating  with  Sir  Robert 
Howard  on  his  play  of  "  The  Indian  Queen."  They  retired 
for  the  greater  convenience  of  their  joint  work  to  the  Earl 


360 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


of  Berkshire's  seat  at  Cliarl ton  in  Wiltshire,  where  Dryden 
became  the  successful  suitor  of  the  EarPs  daughter,  Lady- 
Elizabeth  Howard.  The  scandal  of  the  day  was  busy 
with  the  lady's  reputation,  or  want  of  it ;  and  the 
lampoonists  did  not  scruple  to  assert  that  the  poet 
was  "  hectored  into  marriage  "  by  her  "  brawny  brothers." 
However  this  may  be,  the  marriage  which  was  cele- 
brated in  the  church  of  St.  iSwithin's,  London,  on 
the  1st  of  December,  1(363,  brought  Dryden  no 
domestic  happiness,  and  failed  to  reclaim  him  from  the 
dissoluteness  of  his  living.  Scott  enters  upon  an 
elaborate  exposition  of  the  causes  of  this  unhappiness  : — 
^^It  is  difficult/'  he  says,  *' for  a  woman  of  a  violent 
temper  and  weak  intellect — and  such  the  lady  seems  to 
have  been — to  endure  the  apparently  causeless  fluctuation 
of  spirits  incident  to  one  doomed  to  labour  incessantly  in 
the  feverish  excitement  of  the  imagination.  IJnintentional 
neglect,  and  the  inevitable  relaxation,  or  rather  sinking  of 
spirit,  which  follows  violent  mental  exertion,  are  easily 
misconstrued  into  capricious  rudeness  or  unintentional 
offence :  and  life  is  embittered  by  mutual  accusation,  not 
the  less  intolerable  because  reciprocally  just.  The  wife  of 
one  who  is  to  gain  his  livelihood  by  poetry,  ur  by  any 
labour  (if  any  there  be)  equally  exhausting,  must  either 
have  taste  enough  to  relish  her  husband's  performances,  or 
good-nature  sufficient  to  pardon  his  infirmities.  It  was 
Dryden's  misfortune  that  Lady  Elizabeth  had  neitlier  the 
one  nor  the  other ;  and  I  dismiss  the  disagreeable  subject 
by  observing  that,  on  no  one  occasion  when  a  sarcasm 
against  matrimony  could  be  introduced,  has  our  author 
failed  to  season  it  with  such  bitterness  as  spoke  an  inward 
consciousness  of  domestic  misery."     All  this  seems  to  ua 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


361 


utterly  beyond  the  question.  There  is  no  proof  that 
Dryden  suffered  from  '' fluctuation  of  spirits,"  or  "feverish 
excitement;"  or  that  his  literary  labours  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  infelicity  of  his  married  life.  But 
what  else  was  to  be  expected  than  domestic  wretchedness 
when  a  woman  of  fashion  Avedded  a  man  steeped  to  the 
lips  in  the  impurity  of  his  age  'P 

"  The  Indian  Queen/'  written  in  heroic  couplets,  was 
produced  in  January,  1604,  with  unusual  splendour  of 
stage  accessories;  and  was  so  successful  that  Dryden 
followed  it  up  with  the  tragedy  of ''The  Indian  Emperor," 
which  he  called  "  a  sequel  "  to  the  former,  though  the 
plot  and  nearly  all  the  characters  are  entirely  new.  This 
was  acted  in  the  winter  of  1661-1665,  and  placed  its 
author  in  the  van  of  the  playwrights  of  the  day.  The 
pestilence  of  1665  and  the  Great  Fire  of  1666  led  to  a 
compulsory  closure  of  the  London  Theatres,  and  to  a 
consequent  cessation  of  Dryden's  dramatic  labours.  But  he 
could  not  be  idle,  and  among  the  green  shades  of  Charlton 
he  employed  himself  upon  his  first  important  poem— the 
"Annus  Mirabilis,"  or  "Year  of  Wonders,"^  written  in 
the  quatrains  made  popular  by  Sir  William  Davenant's 
"  Gondibert,"  but  wielded  with  a  force  and  facility  which 
Davenant  had  never  exercised.  In  the  "  Annus  Mirabilis  " 
we  first  recognize  Dryden  as  a  great  poet.  There  is 
exaggeration  in  the  colouring,  no  doubt,  and  a  good  deal 
of  tumidity  in  the  language;  but  the  diffiirent  subjects— 
the  Dutch  War,  the  progress  of  Commerce,  the  foundation 
of  the  Eoyal  Society,  and  the  Eire  of  London— are  treated 
with  infinite  skill,  and  many  passages  are  alive  with 
jpoetic  invention.  Our  sea  battles  have  never  been  described 

*  Dryden  borrowed  his  title  from  a  Puritan  book  published  in  1661. 


362 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


with  so  much  pomp  and  vigour  of  rhetoric,  with  such  a 
fluency  and  richness  of  versification.  We  cannot  resist 
the  temptation  of  transferring  to  our  pages  the  follow- 
ing animated  stanzas : — 

«  Our  fleet  divides,  and  straight  the  Dutch  appear, 
In  nuiiiber  and  a  famed  commander  bold  : 
The  narrow  seas  can  scarce  their  navy  bear, 
Or  crowded  vessels  can  their  soldiers  hold. 

*•  The  Duke,  le^s  numerous,  but  in  courai^e  more, 
On  wings  of  all  the  winds  to  combat  flics  : 
His  murdering  guns  a  loud  defiance  roar, 
And  bloody  crosses  on  his  flag- staffs  rise. 

**  Both  furl  their  sail^  and  strip  them  for  the  flght, 
Their  folded  sheets  dismiss  tlie  useless  air  : 
The  Elean  plains  could  boast  no  nobler  sight, 
When  struggling  champions  did  their  bodies  bare. 

**  Born  each  by  other  in  a  distant  line, 

The  sea-built  forts  in  dreadful  ordi^r  move  : 
So  vast  the  noi--     '  -  if  not  fleets  did  join, 

But  lands  un:  and  fl.vifin-  nations  strove. 

"Now  passed,  on  either  side  tliey  nimbly  tack  ; 
Botli  strive  to  intercept  and  guide  the  wind: 
^tul,  in  !  closely  they  come  back, 

To  finish  all  the  ch-aths  they  left  behind. 

•*Onhigh-rai-    '    '    ■k<  tlie  haughty  Belgians  ride, 
Beneath  \vno>o  shade  our  humble  frigate^  go: 
Such  part  the  ele[)hant  bears,  an<l  so  defied 
By  the  rhinoceros  her  unequal  foe. 

"  And  as  the  build,  so  different  is  the  fight : 

Their  mounting  shot  is  on  our  sails  designed: 
Deep  in  their  hulls  ..ur  deadly  bullets  light, 
And  tlirougli  the  yielding  planks  a  p  vssage  find. 

*'  Our  dreaded  admiral  from  far  tliey  threat, 

Whose  battered  rigging  their  whole  war  receives  : 
All  bare,  like  some  old  oak  which  tempests  beat, 
He  stands,  and  -    -  below  his  scattered  leaves. 

"  Heroes  of  old,  wlien  wounded,  shelter  sought  ; 
But  he,  who  meets  all  danger  with  disdain. 
E'en  in  their  face  his  ship  to  anchor  brought, 
And  steeple-higli  stood  propt  upon  the  main. 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  363^ 

**  At  this  excess  of  courage,  all  amazed, 

The  foremost  of  his  foes  awhile  withdraw  : 
With  such  respect  in  entered  Rome  they  gazed. 
Who  on  high  chairs  the  god-like  fathers  saw*  .... 

"  Meantime  his  busy  mariners  he  hastes. 

His  shattered  sails  with  rigging  to  restore  ; 
And  willing  pines  ascend  his  broken  masts, 
Whose  lofty  heads  rise  higher  than  before. 

"  Straight  to  the  Dutch  he  turns  his  dreadful  prow, 
More  fierce  th'  important  (luarrel  to  decide  : 
Like  swans,  in  long  array  his  vessels  show, 
Whose  crests  advancing  do  the  waves  divide.  .  .  . 

"  The  night  comes  on,  we  eager  to  pursue 

The  combat  still,  and  they  ashamed  to  leave  : 
Till  the  last  streaks  of  dying  day  withdrew, 
And  doubtful  moonlight  did  our  rage  deceive. 

"  In  th'  English  fleet  each  ship  resounds  with  joy, 
And  loud  applause  of  their  great  leader's  fame : 
In  fiery  dreams  the  Dutch  they  still  destroy, 
And,  BlumbVing,  smile  at  the  imagined  flame." 

It  wns  also  at  tbis  time  that  Dryden  composed  his  justly 
celebrated  ''Essay  on  Dramatic  Poesy."  In  the  dedica- 
tory preface  to  his  "  liival  Ladies/'  lie  had  strenuously 
contended,  after  the  example  of  Corneille,  that  tragedy 
should  be  written  in  rhyme,  and  that  blank  verse,  from  its 
resemblance  to  prose,  was  beneath  the  dignity  of  the  tragic 
drama.  A  year  or  two  later,  in  the  preface  to  his  "  Four 
New  Plays,"  Sir  Ptobert  Howard  replied  to  his  brother-in- 
law's  argument,  and  set  forth  the  claims  of  blank  verse. 
And  now,  in  his  "Essay  on  Dramatic  Poesy,"  Dryden 
again  plunged  into  the  dispute.  He  throws  his  reflections 
into  the  form  of  a  dialogue,  carried  on  by  Eugenius  (Lord 
Buckhurst),  Lisideius  (Sir  Cbarles  Sedley),  Crites  (Sir 
Robert  Howard),   and  Neander  (Dryden)  ;  and  not  only 

*  Observe  with  what  a  kingly  lavishness  Dryden  ^^j^P^^f  ^J^/^^^^Jf^f 
of  his  praise  !  One  can  hardly  call  it  flattery-there  is  such  an  exaltation, 
such  an  air  of  loftiness,  about  it. 


364 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


365 


maintains  tlie  beauty  of  rhyme,  and  its  aptitude  for  tragi- 
cal writing,  but  discusses  tlie  dramatic  art,  with  regard 
to  action,  plot,  and  the  unities,  and  bestows  a  good  deal 
of  criticism  on  ancient  and  modern  poets.  One  of  the 
finest  passages  is  that  in  which  the  author  enlarges  upon 
the  work  and  genius  of  Siinkespeare.  As,  throughout,  the 
opinions  of  Crites  are  controverted  and  exposed.  Sir  Robert 
Howard  felt  himself  aggrieved,  and  a  coldness  sprang  up 
between  the  two  brothers-in-law  which  is  plainly  shown 
in  Howard's  preface  to  his  ''Duke  of  Lerma."  Dryden 
rejoined  with  vigour  in  his  "Defence  of  the  Essay  on 
Dramatic  Poesy,'^  prefixed,  in  1668,  to  the  second  edition 
of  his  "Indian  Emperor."  Afterwards,  however,  the 
two  critics  were  reconciled,  and  Dryden  made  the  amende 
Jwnorahle  by  ciuicelling  his  "Defence." 

In   March,   1667,   on  the   re-opening  of  the  theatres, 
Dryden  produced  hi        medy  of  "Secret  Love;  or.  The 
Maiden  Queen ;  "  and  in   the   same   year,  "  Sir   Martin 
Mar-all,"  an  adaptation  of  Moliere's  "  L'Etourdi."    '^  All 
for  Love,"  which  is,  perhaps,  his  finest  dramatic  effort, 
followed  in  1668.     The  dramatist  was   under  an  agree- 
ment with  the    management   of  the    King's   Theatre  to 
supply  three  plays  a  year  for  one  share  and  a  quarter  out 
of  the  twelve  shares  and  three-quarters  into  which  the 
theatrical  stock  was  divided,--an  agreement  which  yielded 
between  €300  and   1400  annually,  though  the  stipulated 
number  of  phiys  was  never  furnished.     "An  Evening's 
Love  ;  or.  The  Mock  Astrologer,"  appeared  in  1668.     The 
next  year  saw  the  production  of  "  Tyrannic  Love  ;  or.  The 
Eoyal  Martyr,"  and  in  1670,  his  unwearied  pen  composed 
the  first  part  of  "  Almanzar  and  Almahide ;  or.  The  Con- 
quest of  Granada  "—one  of  the  heroic  plays  most  sharply 


satirized  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  in  "  The   Rehear- 
sal," in  which  extravaganza,  as  everybody  knows,  Dry- 
den figures  under  the  pseudonym  of  Bayes.     The  poet,  how- 
ever, could  afford  to  hold  the  Duke's  vivacious  satire  very 
cheaply,  as  he  had  just  been  appointed  Poet  Laureate  and 
Historiographer  Royal.     The  salary  of  the  united  offices 
was  £200,   and   Dryden's  income  from  all  sources  must 
have  been  about  £750  or  £800,—"  a  sum  more  adequate  to 
procure  all  the  comforts,  and  many  of  the  luxuries  of  life, 
than  thrice  the  amount  at  present."     It  did  not  suffice  for 
his  reckless  expenditure,  and  he  was  always  in  debt  ;  ex- 
torting, when  his  necessities  pressed  very  heavily,  a  gift 
of  money  from  some  noble  patron  by  a  fulsome  "  Dedica- 
tion." 

Dryden  was  too  resolute   a  man  to  be  beaten  to  his 
knees  by  any  satirist,  and  in   1672,  he  brought  out  his 
tragi-comedy  of  "Marriage  a  la  Mode,"  and  his  play  of 
"The  Assignation  ;  or.  Love  in  a  Nunnery."     The  failure 
of  the  latter  seems  to  have  provoked  him  greatly,  if  we 
may  judge  from  the  bitterness  of  the  preface,  dedicated 
to  Sir  Charles  Sedley,  which  he  prefixed  to  the  play  when 
it  was  printed  and  published  in  1678.     It  was  in  the  same 
year  that  he  produced  his  wretched  tragedy  of  "  Amboyna ; 
or  The  Cruelties  of  the  Dutch  to  the  English  Merchants," 
written  in  order  to  stimulate  public  feeling  against  the 
Dutch  after  the  dissolution  of  the  Triple  Alliance ;  and  in 
the  same  year  Elkanah  Settle  broke  upon  the  town  with 
his  "Empress  of  Morocco,"  which  met  with  extraordinary 
success,  and  was  acted  for  a  month  together.     The  Earl 
of  Rochester  who,   through    some  unknown  cause,   had 
quarrelled  with  Dryden,  bestowed  an  ostentatious  patron- 
a^'-e  on  the   playwright;  and    Settle  was  encouraged  to 


366 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


publish  the  plaj,  "adorned  with  sculptures/'  and  weighted 
with  a  dedication  levelled  against  the  Laureate.     Dryden 
lost  his  temper,  and  united  with  Shadwell  and  Crowne  in 
a  coarse  criticism  on  the  -  Empress  of  Morocco,"  in  which 
he  is  seen  at  his  worst.     Settle  replied  ;  and  left  his  ant- 
agonist  covered  with  the   dust  and  dirt  of  a  degrading 
and  injudicious  controversy.     Thenceforth  Rochester  was 
Dryden's  avowed  enemy,  and  we  shall  see  to  how  brutal 
an  extremity  he  was  led  by  the  recklessness  of  his  revenge. 
In  1674,  the  year  of  Milton's  death,  Dryden  published 
an  operatic  perversion  of  "Paradise  Lost,"  called  "The 
State  of  Innocence  and  the  Fall  of  Man,'^  which  is  one  of 
the  curiosities  of  literature.     That  a  man   of  Dryden's 
sober  genius  and  critical  acumen  could  so  degrade  a  pure 
and  lofty  theme  is  an  illustration  of  human  error  which 
might  have  afforded  Mr.  Caxton  matter  for  a  chapter  in 
his^famous  History.     Dryden  was  by  no  means  deficient 
in  appreciation  of  the  intellectual  greatness  of  the  blind 
poet.     It  is  said  that  he  asked  his  leave  to  adapt  "  Para- 
dise Lost "  for  stage  purposes  ;  and  was  answered  with  a 
half-contemptuous,  half  good-natured  shrugs"  Aye,  you 
may  tag  my  verses."     Aubrey  is  the   authority  for  this 
pretty  liUle  anecdote,  but  its  authenticity  seems  to  us  very 
doubtful.     The  tradition  is,  perhaps,  equally  dubious  that 
Milton  spoke  of  his  adapter  as  "  a  good  rhymer,  but  no 

poet.^' 

In  the  spring  of  1675  appeared  the  heroic  play  of 
"  Aureng  Zebe  ;  or,  The  Great  Mogul,"  the  last  of  Dryden's 
dramas  in  rhyme.  In  his  dedication  of  it  to  the  Earl  of 
Mulgrave,  we  clearly  read  his  consciousness  that  in  his  writ- 
ings^'for  the  stage  he  had  not  done  justice  to  his  genius, 
and  he  expresses  a  worthy  ambition  to  produce  some  work 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


367 


tj  which  his  name  might  be  remembered.    "  If  I  must  be 
condemned  to  rhyme,"  he  says,  "  I  should  find  some  ease 
in  my  change  of  punishment.  I  desire  to  be  no  longer  the 
Sisyphus  of  the  Stage ;  to  roll  up  a  stone  with  endless 
labour  (which,  to  follow  the  proverb,   gathers  no  moss), 
and  which  is   perpetually  faUing   down  again.     I  never 
thought  myself  very  fit  for  an  employment  where  many  of 
my  predecessors  have  excelled  me  in  all  kinds ;  and  some 
of  my  contemporaries,  even  in  my  own  partial  judgment, 
have  outdone  me  in  comedy.  Some  little  hopes  I  have  yet 
remaining,  and  these  too,  considering  my  abilities  may  be 
vain,  that  I  may  make  the  world  some  part  of  amends  for 
many  ill  plays  by  an  heroick  poem.     Your  Lordship  has 
long  been  acquainted  with  my  design,  the  subject  of  which 
you  know  is  great,  the  story  English,  and  neither  too  far 
distant  from  the  present  age,  nor  too  near  approaching  it, 
Such,  it  is  my  opinion,  that  I  could  not  have  a  nobler 
occasion  to  do  honour  by  it  to  my  King  and  country,  and 
my  friends ;  most  of  our  ancient  nobility  being  concerned 
in  the  action.     And   your   Lordship   has  one  particular 
reason  to  promote  this  undertaking,  because  you  were  the 
first  who  gave  me  the  opportunity  of  discussing  it  to  His 
Majesty   and   His    Eoyal    Highness.       They  were  then 
pleased  both  to  commend  the  design,  and  to  encourage  it 
by  their  commands.      But  the  unsettledness  of  my  condi- 
tion has  hitherto  put  a  stop  to  my  thoughts  concerning  it. 
As  I  am  no  successor  to  Homer  in  his  wit,  so  neither  do  I 
desire  to  be  in  his  poverty.      I  can  make  no  rhapsodies, 
nor  go  a-begging  at  the  Grecian  doors,  while  I  sing  the 
praises  of  their  ancestors.      The  times  of  Virgil  please  me 
better,  because  he  had  an  Augustus  for  his  patron.     And, 
to  draw  the  allegory  nearer  you,  I  am  sure  I  shall  not 


368 


THE    ME  BET    MONAECH  ; 


want  a  Mecanas  with  him.  '  Tis  for  your  Lordship  to  stir 
up  that  remembrance  in  His  Majesty,  which  his  many 
avocations  of  business  have  caused  him,  I  fear,  to  lay 

aside." 

In  the  dedication  to  his  "  Juvenal,"  the  poet  tells  us  that 

he  hesitated  between  two  subjects:  the  conquest  of  the 
Saxons  by  King  Arthur,  or  Edward  the  Black  Prince 
subduing  Spain  and  restoring  it  to  Don  Pedro  the  Cruel. 
He  attempted  neither,  being  discouraged  by  the  treatment 
he  received  from  the  King,  who  gave  him  fine  words  in- 
stead  of  substantial  help.  His  small  salary  was  ir- 
regularly paid,  while  his  income  had  been  greatly  reduced 
by  the  burning  of  the  King's  Theatre  and  the  outlay 
incurred  in  rebuilding  it.  There  is  no  occasion  to  regret 
Dryden's  failure  to  realise  his  ambitious  design  of  writing 
an  epic  poem.  His  powers  did  not  lie  in  that  direction  ; 
and  an  epic  by  Dryden  must  at  least  have  been  a  splendid 

mistake. 

His  next,  and  best  play,  «  All  for  Love ;  or.  The  World 
Well  Lost,"  a  tragedy  founded  on  the  story  of  Antony  and 
Cleopatra,  was  produced  at  the  King's  Theatre  in  1678. 
He  speaks  of  it  as  « the  only  play  written  for  himself,  the 
rest  were  given  to  the  people.  .  .  ."  "  In  my  style,"  he 
adds,  "  I  have  preferred  to  imitate  the  divine  Shakespeare 
which,   that  I   may  perform  more  freely,  I  have   dis- 
membered myself  from  rhyme.     Not  that  I  condemn  my 
former  way,  but  that  this  is  more  proper  to  my  present 
purpose.  ...  I  bope  I  may  affirm,  and  without  vanity, 
that,  by  imitating  him,  I  have  excelled  myself  throughout 
the  play ;  and  particularly  that  I  prefer  the  scene  betwixt 
Antony  and  Ventidius,  in  the  first  act,  to  anything  which 
I  have  written  in  this  kind."    From  the  heights  attained 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


36S) 


in  this  really  noble  drama,  he  made  a  deplorable  descent 
in  his  licentious  comedy  of  «  Limberham,"  produced  in 
the    same    year.      To    1679    belongs    the    tragedy    of 
«  (Edipus,"  which  he  wrote  in  conjunction  with  Nathaniel 
Lee,  and  an  adaptation  or  reconstruction  of  Shakespeare's 
'<  Troilus  and  Cressida,"  in  which,  as  Scott  says,  he  has 
suppressed  some  of  the  finest  poetry  of  the  original,  and 
exaggerated  its  worst  faults.      To  the  play  is  prefixed  an 
admirable   discourse    on   the  "  Grounds  of  Criticism  in 
Tragedy,"  which  makes  us  regret  that  Dryden  did  not 
observe   his   own  rules.    When  he  wrote  "  'Tis  neither 
height  of  thought  that  is  discommended,  nor  pathetic 
vehemence,  nor  any  nobleness  of  expression  in  its  proper 
place ;   but  'tis  a  false  manner  of  all  these,  something 
which  is  like  'em,  and  is  not  them ;  'tis  the  Bristol  stone 
which  appears  like  a  diamond ;  'tis  an  extravagant  thought, 
instead  of  a  sublime  one ;  'tis  roaring  madness,  instead  of 
vehemence ;  and  a  sound  of  words  instead  of  sense.  .  .  ." 
he  must  surely  have  been  conscious  of  the  Bristol  stones 
and  the  extravagance,  the  roaring  madness,  and  the  sound 
and  fury,  which  disfigured  his  dramatic  conceptions,  and 
tad  done  so  much  to  vitiate  and  corrupt  the  taste  of  the 


age. 


We  have  already  alluded  to  the  hostile  feeling  which 
Eochester  had  unfortunately  conceived  against  the  poet. 
In  the  winter  of  this  year  it  received  a  strong  stimulus  by 
the  publication  of  Lord  Mulgrave's  "  Essay  upon  Satire," 
which  Rochester  ascribed  to  Dryden,  though  he  had  done 
nothin<^  more  than  revise  some  passages  of  it.  Eochester 
resolved  upon  revenge ;  and  on  the  18th  of  December  some 
ruffians,  whom  he  had  hired,  waylaid  the  poet  as  he  was 
returning  from  his  favourite  resort.  Will's  Coffee-house, 


'to 
VOL.   I. 


370 


THE   MEERY  MONARCH  ; 


through  Covent  Garden,  and  with  their  cudgels  severely 
maltreated  him.  A  reward  was  offered  for  the  discovery 
of  the  perpetrators  of  the  outrage,  but  though  it  was 
tolerably  well  known  to  have  been  instigated  by  Eochester 
—and  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  was  also  thought  to 
have  had  a  hand  in  it— no  definite  evidence  could  be  ob- 
tained. Dryden's  enemies— and  they  were  legion— found 
in  this  act  of  violence  an  inexhaustible  source  of  ribald 
allusion.  He  himself,  with  considerable  dignity,  refrained 
from  avenging  himself  upon  its  author,  who  sank  into  a 
premature  grave  in  the  following  July. 

It  is  impossible  not  to  admire  the  resolute  industry  of 
Dryden.     His  unwearied  pen  turned  from  one  subject  to 
another,  apparently  without  a  pause,  and  no  sign  of  ex- 
haustion   or   feebleness   is  anywhere   conspicuous.     His 
first  essay  at  translation  was  made  in  1680,  when  he  joined 
with  Lord  Mulgrave  in  rendering  three  of  Ovid's  Epistles 
into  English  verse.     In  the  spring  of  1681  he  again  ap- 
peared before  the  footlights  with  a  play,  "  The  Spanish 
Eriar  ;  or,  the  Double  Discovery,"  in  which  he  pandered  to 
the  popular  prejudice  against  the  priesthood  of  the  Eoman 
Catholic  Church.     And  a  few  months  later  he  gave  to  the 
world  the  famous  poem  in  which  his  genius  found  at  last 
a  free  and  fitting  field  for  its  exercise,  and  the  mature 
conclusions  of  his  ripe  judgment  and  wide  experience  were 
stated  with  unequalled  force  and  freedom.  "  Absalom  and 
Achitophel  "  is  technically  termed  a  satire,  but  it  is  some- 
thing more  :  it  is  an  exposition  of  political  faith,  informed 
with  a  true  philosophical  spirit.     It  is  the  work  of  a  man 
whose  Conservatism  was  tempered  by  a  certain  breadth  of 
view  and  warmth  of  sympathy.     It  upholds  authority  as 
«  a  security  against  revolution,"  but  we  can  clearly   see 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


371 


that  its  writer  would,  in  certain  circumstances,  contend 
with  equal  fervour  for  liberty.     It  is  his  alarm  and  dis- 
gust at  the  sight  of  a  "  state  drawn  to  the  dregs  of  a 
democracy  "  that  make  him  rally  so  eagerly  to  the  support 
of  the  Crown.     As  everybody  knows,  its  immediate  cause 
wa^  the  Popish  Plot,   which  Dryden  regarded  as  fomen- 
tedby  the  Earl  of  Shaftesbury  in  order  to  promote  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth's  accession  to  his  father's  throne.     Charles 
II.  is  King  David,  Absalom  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  and 
the  crafty  Achitophel,  who  draws  him  into  rebellion,  is 
Shaftesbury.     We  need  not  comment  upon  the  vigour  and 
fidelity   with    which   their   portraits  are  drawn— or  the 
portraits   of  other   notable   actors  in  the  drama  of  the 
time,  such  as  Zimri  for  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  and 
Corah  for  Titus  Gates.    They  are  as  finished  in  detail  as 
they  are  bold  in  outline.     As  a  satirical  poem  ''Absalom 
and  Achitophel"  is  unequalled,  not  only  for  directness, 
but  for  moderation.     There  is  no  malignity  in  it— nothing 
of  that  malice  which  rankles  in  Pope's  venomous  attacks. 
'^The    blows,"    as    Professor  Ward    remarks,  "are    not 
dealt  indiscriminately,  as  in  an  Aristophanic  comedy,  to 
which  nothing  is  sacred,  or  in  the  wantonness  of  partisan 
wit,  such  as  Canning  poured  forth  against  the  impotence  he 
disliked  not  less  than  against  the  fanaticism  he  abhorred, 
—but    with    care    and   even    self-restraint.     Absalom  is 
'  lamented '  rather  than  '  accused ; '  and  Achitophel  him- 
self where  he  deserves  praise  receives  it  from  the  candour 
of  his  politic  assailant.  Johnson  has  commended  Dryden's 
poem  as    ^comprising  all  the  excellences  of  which  the 
subject  is  capable ;'  and  not  a  jot  need  be  abated  from 
this  at  once  high  and  judicious  encomium.  In  what  other 
poem  of  the  kind  will  be  found,  together  with  so  much 


872 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


versatility  of  wit,  so  incisive  a  directness  of  poetic 
eloquence?  Dryden  is  here  at  bis  best;  and  being  at  bis 
best,  be  is  entirely  free  from  that  ii-repressible  desire  to 
outdo  bimself,  wbicb  in  a  great  author  as  in  a  great  actor 
so  greatly  interferes  with  an  enjoyment  of  bis  endeavours, 
and  to  which  in  productions  of  a  different  kind  Dryden 
often  gave  way.  This  self-control  was  the  more  to  his 
credit  since  he  had  not  yet  shot  all  the  bolts  in  his  qniver, 
and  declared  himself  quite  prepared  to  convince  those  who 
thought  otherwise,  'at  their  own  cost,  that  he  could  write 
severely  with  more  ease  than  he  could  write  gently.'  " 

Dryden's  poem  had,  no  doubt,  its  influence  on  the 
popular  mind  ;  but  it  did  not  prevent  the  Middlesex  Grand 
Jury  from  throwing  out  the  bill  of  Achitophers  indict- 
ment, or  the  London  mob  from  welcoming  the  Earl's 
release  "vvitli  bonfires  and  much  ringing  of  bells.  This 
enthusiasm  for  a  mock  hero — for  a  man  who,  in  the  poet's 
eyes,  was  the  champion  of  disorder  and  the  apostle  of 
anarchy — provoked  from  him  the  sharp  corrosive  satire  of 
"The  Medal,'^*  which  was  published  early  in  March, 
1682,  with  a  preftitory  "  Epistle  to  the  Whigs."  The 
invective  against  Shaftesbury  is  here  very  strong  and 
keen  ;  not  less  strong  or  keen  the  masterful  protest 
against  the  stupidity  of  his  partisans. 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  these  great  satirical  poems 
called  forth  a  swarm  of  replies,  most  of  which  were 
neither  satirical  nor  poetical.  The  best  were  written  by 
Samuel  Pordage.  The  coarsest  was  Shadwell's  ''  The 
Medal    of    John    Bayes  ;    a    Satyr    against    Folly    and 


*  That  is,  the  medal  struck  to  commemorate  the  rejection  of  the  bill 
agaiubt  Shaftesbury. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAKLES  II. 


373 


Knavery,"   which,    however,   is   neither   more   nor    less 
than  a  gross  personal  attack  upon  Dryden  : — 

'*  Pied  thing !  lialf  wit !  half  fool ;  and  for  a  knave 
Few  more  than  this  a  better  mixture  have  : 
But  thou  canst  add  to  that,  coward  and  slave." 

It  is  not  probable  that  Shadwell  believed  all  this ;  nor 
is  it  probable  that  Dryden  believed  Shadwell  to  be  the 
dullard— which  he  certainly  was  not— he  has  gibbeted  so 
triumphantly  in  his  "  Mac  Flecknoe ;  or,  a  Satire  on  the 
True-blue  Protestant  Poet,  T.  S.,"  published  in  October, 
1G82.  This  crushing  diatribe  is  one  of  Dryden's  most 
brilliant  efforts :  in  execution  it  is  perfect.  The  roll 
and  rush  of  its  versification  carries  the  reader  on  with  it 
irresistibly,  and  suggests  an  idea  of  spontaneity  that  con- 
trasts vividly  with  the  elaboration  of  Pope's  "Dunciad." 
One  can  feel  that  the  poet  enjoyed  the  ease  and  power 
with  which  he  struck  down  his  adversary  in  such  lines  as 
the  following : — 

"  Shadwell  alone  my  perfect  image  bears, 
Mature  in  dulness  from  his  tender  years  ; 
Shadwell  alone  of  all  my  sons  is  he 
Who  stands  confirmed  in  full  stupidity. 
The  rest  to  some  faiut  meaning  make  pretence, 
But  Shadwell  never  deviates  into  sense. 
Some  beams  of  wit  on  other  souls  may  fall, 
Strike  through  and  make  a  lucid  interval ; 
But  Shad  well's  genuine  night  admits  no  ray, 
His  rising  fogs  prevail  upon  the  day." 

Richard  Flecknoe,  from  whom  the  satire  takes  its  title, 
was  an  Irish  Eonian  Catholic  priest,  with  an  unhappy 
reputation  for  writing  doggerel,  who  died  some  four  years 
before  his  name  attained  so  unexpected  an  immortality. 

In  November,  1682,  appeared   "The  Second  Part  of 


374 


THE    MERKY    MONARCH; 


Absalom    and  Achitopliel/'   chiefly   written  by  Nahum 
Tate,  Dryden's  contribution  forming  only  200  lines  (11. 
310-509),  in  which,  with  his  characteristic  incisiveness, 
he  sketches  Shadwell  as  Og  and  Elkanah  Settle  (another 
of  his  miserable  assailants)  as  Doeg  in  the  liveliest  colours 
his  satiric  genius  could  supply.     The  same  month  wit- 
nessed the  publication  of  his  "  Religio   Laici "  (A  Lay- 
man's  Religion),  a  poem  with  a  personal  as  well  as  a 
literary  value,  for   it   illustrates   those   intellectual    and 
moral  tendencies  which  shortly  afterwards  led  Dryden  to 
enter  the  Roman  Catholic  communion.     It  was  addressed 
to  "an  ingenious  young  gentleman  "  who  had  translated 
Simon's  "  Critical  History  of  the  Old  Testament."     Both 
in  the  poem  and  the  preface  Dryden  opposes  the  damna- 
torv  clauses  of  the  Athanasian  Creed,  and  writes  in  a 
spirit  that  reminds  us  of  much  of   Sir  Thomas  Browne's 
"Religio  Medici,"  which  probably  suggested  the  title. 
The   key-note   is   supplied,   we   think,  in   the   following 
lines : — 

"  For  points  obscure  are  of  small  use  to  learn, 
But  common  quiet  is  the  world's  concern." 

For  rest,  for  quiet,  for  the  sense  of  repose  that  comes 
to  one  who  leans  upon  a  supreme  Authority,  while  not  ser- 
vilely truckling  to  all  its  dictates,  Dryden  yearned,  as  many 
quick  intellects,  weary  with  the  din  of  sects  and  the  clash 
of  opinions,  have  always  yearned ;  and  it  was  this  yearn- 
ing which  ultimately  led  him  to  profess  himself  a  member 
of  the  Roman  Church. 

This  year  of  intellectual  activity  Dryden  closed  with 
the  production  of  the  tragedy  of  "  The  Duke  of  Guise," 
which  he  had  written  in  co-operation  with  Lee.  Its 
design  was  to  apply  to  the  Opposition  of  the  day  the  story 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


375 


of  the  French  League ;  but,  like  most  plays  written  with 
a  purpose,  it  failed  to  command  success.  As  was  only 
natural,  it  was  vehemently  attacked  by  pamphleteers, 
which  some  of  Dryden's  biographers  indignantly  resent, 
though  polemics  on  the  stage  can  hardly  expect  to  pass 
unnoticed  and  unanswered.  The  poet's  old  antagonist, 
Shadwell,  was  among  the  assailants  and  was  finally  dis- 
posed of  in  a  "  Vindication  of  the  Duke  of  Guise." 

A   Preface   and   a  Memoir  to   a  new   translation   of 
Plutarch  by  several  hands— the  basis  of  Arthur  Clough's 
edition— was  Dryden's  chief  work  in  1683.     In  the  follow- 
ing   year    he    published    a    translation    of   Mainiburg's 
"  History  of  the  League,"  in  which  a  parallel  is  drawn 
between  the  Huguenots  of  France  and  the  Leaguers,  as 
both  equally  determined  enemies  of  the  Monarchy.     It 
was  easy,  says  Scott,  to  transfer  the  comparison  to  the 
sectaries  of  England,   and  the   association   proposed  by 
Shaftesbury.     The   work   was    published    with    unusual 
solemnity   of    title-page   and   frontispiece;     the    former 
declaring  that  the  translation  was  made  by  His  Majesty's 
command,  the  latter  representing  Charles  on  his  throne 
surrounded  by  emblems  expressive  of  hereditary  and  inde- 
feasible right.  In  the  dedication  to  the  King,  occur  expres- 
sions  of  strong   party  violence,  and  even  ferocity.     The 
forgiving  disposition  of  the  King,  says  Dryden,  encouraged 
the"conspirators.     Like  Antt^us,  they  were  refreshed  from 
a  simple  overthrow.      "  These  sons  of  earth  are  never  to 
be  trusted  in  their  mother  element ;  they  must  be  hoisted 
into  the  air  and  strangled."      Dryden  did  not  mean  his 
advice  to  be  taken  literally ;   but  Charles  had  no  time  to 
act  upon  it.     Apoplexy  cut  short  his  dishonoured  life  and 
unprofitable  reign  on  the  6th  of  February,  1685. 


376 


THE    MEERY    MONARCH; 


Dryden  was  by  no  means  ignorant  or  un appreciative  of 
our  earlier  poetical  literature,  and  in  1684  he  revived  the 
old  Elizabethan  system  of  collecting  in  one  volume  the 
works   of  diiferent   writers.     "  The   Miscellany  Poems," 
which  he  suggested  and  edited,  contained  his  own  "  Mac- 
riecknoe,''  ''  Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  and  "  The  Medal," 
besides    translations    by    himself,    Sedley,  Eoscommon, 
Rochester,  Otway,   Rymer,   Tate,    Stepney,   and   several 
others  of  less  note.     The  first  volume  was  published  by 
Jacob  Tonson ;  it  was  followed  at  various  intervals  in  the 
poet's  life  by  three  others,  and  Tonson  added  two  more 
after  his  death.      A  new  and  revised  edition  appeared  in 
1715.      Work  such  as  this  must   have   been  distasteful 
enough  to  the  veteran,  who  towered  head  and  shoulders 
above  all  his  literary  contemporaries  ;    and  it  is  painful 
to  reflect  that  it  was  forced  upon  him  by  his  pecuniary 
necessities.      His  salary  as  laureate  was  irregularly  paid, 
and  at  this  time  sadly  in  arrear ;   so  was  an  annuity  of 
£100   granted  to   him   in   1680  by  Charles  II.     At  the 
King's  death  it  seems  to  have  lapsed ;   and  great  as  had 
been  Dryden's  services  to  the  Crown,  it  was  not  until 
March,  1686,  that  James  II.  could  be  induced  to  renew  it. 
In  his  distress  he  applied  for  a  small  office  "  either  in  the 
Customs,  or  the  Appeals,  or  the  Excise ;  "   but  no  such 
provision  was  forthcoming  for  the  necessitous  poet,  and 
he  was  compelled  to  ply  his  pen  with  as  much  industry 
and  resolution  as  he  could  command. 

At  the  time  of  Charles  II.'s  death,  he  was  rehearsing 
at  Court  his  opera  of  "  Albion  and  Albanius  ;  "  designed 
to  celebrate  the  King's  escape  from  the  Eye  House  Plot 
and  his  victory  over  the  Whig  Opposition.  He  put  it 
aside  to  fulfil  his  duty  as  poet-laureate,  and  apotheosize 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


377 


Charles  in  the  cold  and  laboured  poem  of  the  "  Threnodia 
Augustalis."  Then  he  resumed  his  opera,  which,  with 
very  fine  scenery  and  much  pure  music  by  Louis  Grabu, 
was  produced  on  the  3rd  of  Jane,  1GS5.  It  failed  igno- 
miniously  ;  as  it  deserved  to  fail,  the  poet's  share  being 
no  better  than  the  musician's,  which  led  the  wits  to  say 
that  the  laureate  and  Grabu  had  mistaken  their  trade— 
the  former  writing  the  music  and  the  latter  the  verse. 

Soon  after  James's  accession,  Dryden   announced  his 
conversion  to  the  Roman  Catholic   religion.     We   have 
seen  that  his  mind  had  for  a  considerable   period   been 
gradually  moving  in  this  direction  ;  and  there  is  no  truth 
in    the    malicious    insinuation    that   he    was   biased   by 
motives  of  self-interest.     The  coarse  epithet  of  "  illustrious 
renegade"  which  IMacaulay  applies  to  him  was  wholly 
undeserved.     He  had  formed  his  opinions  honestly,  and  he 
stood   by   them  honestly,    at    a  time   when   they  were 
notoriously  unpopular  with  the  mass  of  his  countrymen. 
Like  most  converts,  he  threw  a  good  deal  of  fervour  into 
his  profession  of  his  new  religion.     He   translated   and 
dedicated    to    the    Queen    the    "Life    of    St.    Francis 
Xavier,"  by   the   Pere  Bouhours.      But    the   great   and 
incomparable  service  which    he  rendered  was  the  com- 
position  of  "  The  Hind  and  the  Panther,"^  in  which  he 
employed  the  graces  of  poetry  to   embellish  a  religious 
argument.      In  nearly  two  thousand  lines— few  of  which 
are  trivial,  most  of  which  are  noble,  and  all  of  which  are 
tempered  with  a  fine  earnestness— he  advocates  the  union 
of  the  Church  of  England  and  the  Roman  Catholics,  in 
order    to    vindicate    the    truth   against  the    attacks  of 

*  rrv,     «rr,nv  white  hind"   is,   of    course,   the   Chnrch   of    Rome;    the 
pithet  "  toe;rcil^^^^^^^^^^^^  the  spotted  k.^d,"  the  Church  of  England. 


378 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


sectaries.  The  fable-form  of  the  poem  is,  no  doubt, 
somewhat  chimsily  contrived  ;  the  reasoning  is  by  no 
means  proof  against  the  objections  of  a  skilled  controver- 
sialist ;  but  the  elevated  excellence  of  the  versification 
cannot  be  denied.  It  would  be  unpardonable  to  load  our 
pages  with  quotations  from  a  poem  which  is  at  everybody's 
command ;  but  the  splendid  passage  on  the  Oneness  of 
the  Church,  however  often  he  may  have  read  it,  no  reader 
will  object  to  read  again  : — 

*♦  One  in  lierself,  not  rent  by  schism,  but  sound, 
Entire,  one  solid  shining  diamond, 
Not  sparkles  shattered  into  sects  like  you  : 
One  is  tlie  Church,  and  must  be  to  be  true, 
One  central  principle  of  unity  ; 
As  undivided,  so  from  errors  free  ; 
As  one  in  faith,  so  one  in  sanctity. 
Thus  she,  and  none  but  she,  the  insulting  rage 
Of  heretics  opposed  from  age  to  age  ; 
Still  when  the  giant-brood  invades  her  throne, 
8he  stoops  from  lieaven  and  meets  them  half-way  down. 
And  with  paternal  thunder  vindicates  her  crown. 
But  like  Egyptiiui  M.rcerers  you  stand, 
And  vainly  lift  aloft  your  magic  wand 
To  sweep  away  tlie  swarms  of  vermin  from  the  land. 
You  could  like  tliem,  witli  like  infernal  force, 
Produce  the  plague  but  not  arrest  the  course. 
But  when  the  l>oiis  and  botches  with  disgrace 
And  public  scan<lal  sat  upon  the  face, 
Themselves  attacked,  tlie  Magi  strove  no  more ; 
They  saw  Gnd's  finger,  and  their  fate  deplore; 
Themselves  they  could  not  cure  of  the  dishonest  sore. 
Thus  one,  tlius  i)ure,  behold  her  largely  spread, 
Like  the  fair  ocean  from  her  mother-bed  ; 
From  east  to  west  triumphantly  she  rides, 
All  shores  are  watered  by  her  wealthy  tides. 
The  gospel-sound,  diffused  from  pole  to  pole, 
Where  winds  can  carry  and  where  waves  can  roll  ; 
The  self- same  doctrine  of  the  sacred  page 
Conveyed  to  every  clime,  in  every  age." 

It  is  impossible  to  doubt  the  sincerity  of  the  man  who, 
with  prompt  vigour  and  virile  energy,  struck  off  these  lines. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


379 


red-hot,  from  the  anvil  of  his  genius.  Compare  them  with 
Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man,"  and  we  feel  like  one  who  is  sud- 
denly transported  from  the  fresh  freedom  of  the  breezy 
hills  to  the  close  confinement  of  the  student's  chamber, 
odorous  with  the  fumes  of  the  midnight  lamp. 

Among  the  circle  of  wits,  critics,  politicians,  poetasters, 
and  men  of  fashion  which  revolved  around  Dryden   at 
Will's  Coffee  House,*  figured  Charles  Montague,  after- 
wards Earl  of  Halifax,  and  Matthew  Prior,  then  a  student 
at  St.  John's  College,  Cambridge.     Joining  their  intel- 
lectual  forces,  they  produced  a  clever  caricature,  in  the 
manner  of  "  The  Eehearsal,"  of  the  new  poem,  under  the 
title  of  ''  The  Hind  and  the  Panther  Transvers'd  in  the 
Story  of  the  Country  Mouse  and  the  City  Mouse,"  reviving 
Mr.  Bayes  and  his  old  friends.  Smith  and  Johnson.  Bayes, 
formerly  proud  of  his  play,   is  now  proud  of  his  fable. 
"What,"  says  Johnson,  ^'do  you  make  a  fable  of  your 
religion  ?  "      "  Aye,  egad,"  is  the  reply,   "  and  without 
morals,  too  ;  for  I  tread  in  no  man's  steps ;  and  to  show 
you  how  far  I  can  out-do  anything  that  ever  was  writ  in 
this  kind,  I  have  taken  Horace's  design,  but,  egad,  have 
so  outdone  him,  you  shall  be  ashamed  for  your  old  friend. 
You  remember  in  him  the  Story  of  the  Country  Mouse 
and  the  City  Mouse  ;  what  a  plain,  simple  thing  it  is,  it 
has  no  more  life  and  spirit  in  it,  egad,  than    a  hobby- 
horse ;  and  his  mice  talk  so  meanly,  such  common  stuff, 
so  like  mere  mice,  that  I  wonder  it  has  pleased  the  world 
so  long.     But  now  will  I  undeceive  mankind,  and  teach 

«  Tir  Tnhncon  relates-—"  Of  the  only  two  men  I  have  found  to  whom  he 
(Dryd  ufwa"":  "onlny  known,  one  Jd  me  that  at  the  l-use  w  nch  he  fre. 
Jinontprt  called  Will's  CofEee-House,  the  appeal  upon  any  hteiarjaispuce 
rsmadetoMmTaud  the  other  related  that  his  arm  cha.r  wh.chjn  the 
wtotS  had  a  settled  and  prescriptive  place  by  the  fire,  was,  in  he  summer 
placed  fn  the  balcony,  and  that  he  called  the  two  places  his  winter  and  his 
summer  seat." 


380 


THE  MEREY  MONAKCH  ; 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


381 


^em  to  heighten  and  elevate  a  fable.  I'll  bring  you  in  the 
very  same  mice  disputing  the  depth  of  philosophy, 
searching  into  the  fundamentals  of  religion,  quoting 
texts,  fathers,  councils,  and  all  that ;  egad,  as  you  shall 
see,  either  of  'em  could  easily  make  an  ass  of  a  country 
vicar.  Now,  whereas  Horace  keeps  to  the  dry,  naked 
story,  I  have  more  copiousness  than  to  do  that,  egad. 
Here,  I  draw  you  general  characters,  and  describe  all  the 
beasts  of  the  creation;  there,  I  launch  out  into  long 
digressions,  and  leave  my  mice  for  twenty  pages  together ; 
then  I  fall  into  raptures,  and  make  the  finest  soliloquies, 
as  would  ravish  you.  Won't  this  do,  think  you  ?  "  John- 
son: '^  Faith,  sir,  I  don't  well  conceive  you;  all  this  about 
two  mice  ?  "  Bayes  :  "  Ay,  why  not  ?  Is  it  not  great  and 
heroical !  But  come,  you'll  understand  it  better  when  you 
hear  it ;  and  pray  be  as  severe  as  you  can ;  egad,  I  defy 
all  critics.     Thus  it  begins  : — 

"  A  milk-white  mouse,  immortal  and  unchanged, 
Fed  on  soft  cheese,  and  o'er  the  dairy  ranged ; 
Witliout,  unspotted  ;  Innocent  within, 
She  feared  no  danger,  for  she  knew  no  ginn."* 

The  sharpness  of  the  satire  seems  to  have  wounded 
Dryden  deeply ;  though  we  can  hardly  credit  the  story 
that  it  moved  him  to  tears. 

The  first  "Song  for  St.  Cecilia's  Day"  was  written  in 
1687,  and,  having  been  set  to   music  by   Draghi,  was 

*  *'  The  Hind  and  the  Panther  "  begins  :— 

*'  A  milk-white  hind,  immortal  and  unchanged, 
Fed  on  the  lawns,  and  in  the  forest  ranged : 
Without  unspotted,  innocent  within, 
She  feared  no  danger,  Ibr  she  knew  no  sin." 

Dryden  wrote  his  poem,  it  is  said,  at  Rushton,  near  Huntingdon,  where  a 
leafy  avenue,  which  he  much  affected,  long  retained  the  name  of  "  Dryden's 
Walk."  About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  an  urn  was  erected  there, 
with  the  inscription  :— "  In  memory  of  Dryden,  who  frequented  these 
shades,  and  is  here  said  to  have  composed  his  poem  of  "  '  The  Hind  and  the 
Panther.'" 


publicly  performed  on  November  22nd,  the  Saint's 
festival.  Its  lyrical  flow  is  exquisite ;  the  sweep  of  its 
versification  knows  neither  let  nor  stay,  and  its  organ 
harmonies  are  broad  and  deep.  The  second  Cecilian  ode 
''  Alexander's  Feast,"  is  better  known,  and  its  immense 
fire  has  made  it  more  popular ;  but  it  contains  nothing 
more  beautiful  than  the  following  stanzas  :— 

"  What  passion  cannot  music  raise  and  quell  ? 
When  Jubal  struck  the  chorded  shell, 
His  listening  brethren  stood  around, 
And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 
To  worship  that  celestial  sound. 
Less  than  a  god  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 
Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell, 
That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well. 
What  passion  cannot  music  raise  and  quell  ?  " 

The  ''  Britannia  Eediviva,"  a  laureate-poem  published  a 
fortnight  after  the  birth  of  the  Prince  of  Wales   (June, 
1688),°the  unfortunate  scion   of  an  unfortunate  dynasty, 
afterwards  known  as  "  The  Pretender,"  is  chiefly  remark- 
able for  its  adulatory  enthusiasm  and  its  want  of  political 
foresights  want  of  which  Dryden  must  have  been  pain- 
fully Conscious  when  the  Ee volution  swept  his  Royal  patron 
from  the  throne,  and  deprived  himself  of  his  office  of  poet- 
laureate  and  historiographer,  in  which  he  was  succeeded 
by  his  old  and  despised  antagonist  Shadwell.     The  loss  of 
his    official  income  and  the  increasing  expenses  of  his 
family  compelled  him  to  resume  the  task-work  of  writing 
for  the  stage.     There  is  no  sign  of  exhausted  energies  or 
weakened  intellectual  power,  however,  in  the  fine  tragedy 
of  "Don  Sebastian,"  though,  on  its  production  in  1690, 
it  was  by  no  means  successful.     It  was  followed  in  the 
same  year  by  "  Amphitryon,"  an  adaptation  from  Plautus 
and  Moliere,  with  music  by  Purcell;  and  in  1691  by  the 


f 


382 


THE   MERRr   MONAECH  J 


opera,  also  with  music  by  Purcell,  of  "  King  Arthur  ;  or, 
The  British  Worthy."  ''  Cleomenes;  or,  The  Spartan  Hero" 
was  his  next  effort.  Owing  to  his  illness,  it  was  com- 
pleted by  Southern  (May,  1692)  ;  but  its  representation 
was  prohibited  by  the  Government.  "  This,"  says  Scott, 
<'was  not  very  surprising,  considering  the  subject  of  the 
play,  and  Dryden's  well-known  principles.  The  history 
of  an  exiled  monarch  soliciting,  in  the  Court  of  an  ally, 
aid  to  relieve  his  country  from  a  foreign  yoke,  and  to  re- 
store him  to  the  throne  of  his  fathers,  with  the  account 
of  a  popular  insurrection  undertaken  for  the  same  pur- 
pose, were  delicate  themes  during  the  reign  of  William 
III. ;  at  least,  when  the  pen  of  Dryden  was  to  be  em- 
ployed in  them,  whose  well-known  skill  at  adapting  an 
ancient  stoiy  to  a  modern  moral  had  so  often  been  ex- 
ercised in  the  cause  of  the  house  of  Stewart." 

Dryden's  last  play,  a  tragi-comedy,  called  "Love 
Triumphant ;  or.  Nature  will  prevail,"  produced  in  1693, 
was  damned  by  the  universal  censure  of  the  public  ;  and 
thus  his  dramatic  career,  which  had  extended  over  30 
years,  closed,  as  it  had  begun,  with  ill-success.  In  its 
prologue  and  epilogue  he  bids  farewell  to  the  stage,  hav- 
ing resolved  to  apply  himself  to  the  translation  of  Virgil. 

While  engaged  in  these  dramatic  compositions  he  had 
written,  for  a  fee  of  500  guineas,  the  poem  of  *'Eleonora," 
in  memory  of  the  Countess  of  Abingdon;  compiled  a  life 
of  Polybius,  and  translated  Persius,  and  five  of  the 
Satires  (1st,  3rd,  6th,  15th,  and  16th)  of  Juvenal.  In  his 
beautiful  "Ode  on  Mrs.  Anne  Killigrew  "  (1686)  he  had 
publicly  and  solemnly  repented  of  his  terrible  sins  against 
virtue  and  decency  in  his  x^ays,  exclaiming  :— 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


383 


*'  0  gracious  God  !  how  far  have  we 
Profaned  thy  heavenly  gift  of  Poesy  ? 
Made  prostitute  and  profligate  the  Muse, 
Debased  to  each  obscene  and  impious  use, 
When  harmony  was  first  ordained  above, 
For  tongues  of  angels  and  for  hymns  of  love  I 
Oh  wretched  we  !  why  were  we  hurried  down 
This  Inbric  and  adulterate  age, 
(Nay,  added  fat  pollutions  of  our  own), 
To  increase  the  steaming  odours  of  the  stage?" 

But  we  must  doubt  the  sincerity  or  permanency  of 
this  repentance  when  we  find— apart  from  the  fact  that 
no  improvement  of  tone  is  observable  in  his  latest  dramas 
—that,  in  translating  from  the  classic  poets,  he  almost 
invariably  selected  the  most  obnoxious  passages,  and 
intensified,  rather  than  subdued,  their  warm  and  impure 
colouring.  It  would  seem  that,  like  Rabelais,  his  intellect 
found  a  singular  pleasure  in  filth,  and  revelled  in  the  odours 
of  the  sewer.  This  licentious  depravity  we  find  it  impos- 
sible to  excuse,  though  some  of  his  biographers  have 
attempted  to  palliate  it. 

Of  Dryden  as  a  translator  it  is  enough  to  say  that  he 
possessed  every  qualification  for  success  except  scholar- 
ship, and  the  excellences  of  his  "  Virgil  "  are  so  numerous 
and  so  incontestable  that  it  still  enjoys  a  greater  popu- 
larity than  recent  versions  of  greater  accuracy  and  more 
scholarly  finish.  Begun  in  the  spring  of  1694,  it  was  pub- 
lished in  July,  1697,  and  brought  its  author  a  total 
remuneration  of  about  £1,200  or  £1,300.  "It  satisfied 
Hs  friends,"  says  Johnson,  epigram matically,  "  and  for 
the  most  part  silenced  his  enemies  "—though,  perhaps, 
we  might  say  of  it  that  it  is  not  so  much  the  ^neid  that 
Virgil  wrote  as  the  ^neid  that  Virgil  would  have  written 
had^'he  been  Dryden.    In  the  year  of  its  publication  he 


384 


THE    MEKEY   MONARCH; 


composed  his  immortal  "  Alexander's  Feast,"  first  set  to- 
music  by  Jeremiali   Clarke,  and  afterwards  by  Handel. 
From  an  anecdote  related  by  Bolingbroke,  this  splendid 
lyric  is  sometimes  spoken  of  as  the  work  of  a  single  night ; 
but  Dryden,  in  a  letter  to  his  sons,  expressly  intimates 
that  he  had  been  for  some  time  engaged  in  its  composi- 
tion.    That  it  breathes  the  spirit  of  the  higher  poetry— 
Hke  the  grand  lyrics  of  Shelley,  Keats,  or  Wordsworth 
—no  competent  critic  will  pretend ;  but  taking  it  for  what 
it  is— a  magnificent  piece  of  versification,  rich  in  colour- 
ino-,  and  abounding  in  material  effects— we  may  pronounce 
it  unequalled.     That  force  and  fluency  and  movement  of 
versification    by  which  Dryden    is  so   peculiarly  distin- 
euished,  we  observe  also  in  his  "  Fables/' written  in  fulfil- 
ment  of  an  agreement  with  Jacob  Tonson,  by  which  he  was 
to   receive  250   guineas   for   ten   thousand  verses.     The 
Fables  are  modernised  versions,  executed  with  wonderful 
skill  and  freedom,  of  Chaucer's  "The  Knight's  Tale,^ 
"The  Nun's  Priest's  Tale;'  ''The  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale,' 
''  The  Flower  and  the  Leaf,"  and  "  The  Character  of  a 
Good  Parson  "  (adapted  to  Bishop  Ken)  ;    also,  versions 
from  Boccaccio  of '' Sigismunda  and  Guiscardo,"  '^  Theo- 
dore and  Honoria,"  and  "  Cymon  and  Iphigenia,"  besides 
translations  from  Ovid,  and  the  first-book  of  "  The  Iliad." 
The  preface  is  full  of  sound   criticism   and   interesting 

matter. 

"The  Fables,"  which  appeared  in  March,  1700,  were 
Dryden's  last  important  production.  "  The  Secular 
Masque,"  which  contains  a  beautiful  and  spirited  delinea- 
tion of  the  reigns  of  James  I.,  Charles  I.,  and  Charles  II., 
in  which  the  influences  of  Diana,  Mars,  and  Venus  are 
supposed  to  have  respectively  predominated,  added  to 


J5 


J> 


OK.  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


385 


Vanbrugh's  adaptation  of  Fletcher's  "  The  Pilgrim,"  to 
which  he  also  contributed  a  prologue  and  an  epilogue— the 
former  dealing,   severely,  with    Sir  Richard  Blackmore, 
and  the  latter  with  Jeremy  Collier— closes  the  poet's  long 
literary  career.     A  lameness,  with  which   he   had  been 
afflicted  in  the  early  part  of  the  year,  resulted  in  erysipelas, 
and  this  terminated  in  a  gangrene  in  one  of  his  toes.     His 
surgeon  suggested   amputation   of  the  limb,  to   prevent 
mortification,  but  Dryden  refused  to  risk  a  dubious  and 
painful  operation,  observing  that  in  the  ordinary  course 
of  nature  he  had  not  long  to  live.     He  bore  his  sufferings 
with  fortitude,  and  faced  death  with  composure.     "  When 
nature  could  be  no  longer  supported  he  received  the  notice 
of  his  approaching  dissolution  with  sweet  submission  and 
entire  resignation  to   the  Divine  Will,  and  he  took  so 
tender  and  obliging  a  farewell  of  his  friends  as  none  but 
he  himself  could  have  expressed."     He  passed  away  very 
quietly  at  three  o'clock  on  Wednesday  evening.  May  1st, 
1700.     Twelve  days  later  his  remains  were  interred  with 
much  public  ceremony  in  Westminster  Abbey,  in  a  grave 
between  the  last  resting-places  of  Chaucer  and  Cowley. 

For  a  detailed  criticism  of  his  works,  and  fuller  par- 
ticulars of  his  life,  the  reader  is  referred  to  Bell,  Mitford, 
Johnson,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  especially  to  his  latest 
editor,  Mr.  George  Saintsbury.  A  fine  and  appreciative 
estimate  of  his  poetical  achievement  will  be  found  in 
Lowell's  delightful  volume  of  essays,  entitled,  "  My  Study 
Windows."  Within  the  limits  imposed,  partly  by  the 
circumstances  of  the  time  and  the  social  influences 
which  surrounded  him,  and  partly  by  his  own  tastes  and 
temper,  he  was  unquestionably  a  great  poet ;  but  as  those 
limits  excluded  all  the  topics  and  questions  which  arise 


VOL.  I. 


C  C 


386 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH. 


out  of  the  stud}-  and  love  of  nature,  the  contemplation  of 
the  unseen,  and    the    consideration   of  the   wants   and 
aspirations  of  humanity— in  a  word,  all  those  topics  and 
questions  which  most  nearly  affect  us  in  our  relation  to 
the  Divine  Fatherhood  and  our  fellow  men— he  can  never 
be  classed  with  the  greater  masters  of  English  song,  with 
Milton    or   Wordsworth,    with    Shelley,    Browning,    or 
Tennyson.     Professor  Ward  remarks  that  it  is  futile  to 
seek  in  Dryden  for  poetic  qualities   which   he   neither 
possessed  nor  affected.     Wordsworth  observed  that  in  the 
whole  body  of  his  works  there  is  not  a  single  image  from 
nature,   and  we  may  add  that  the  landscapes  he  occa- 
sionally draws  are  coldly  artiEcial— without  a  breath  of 
life.     A  more  signal  defect  is  his  want  of  sympathy.     We 
miss  in  him  the  true  lyrical  cry,  and   to   sublimity  he 
seldom  aspires  and  never  attains.     "  If  it  be  too  much  to 
say  that  the  magnificent  instrument  through  which  his 
genius  discourses  its  music  lacks  the  vox  Jmmana  of  poetry 
speaking  to  the  heart,  the  still  rarer  presence  of  the  vox 
angelica  is  certainly  wanting  to  it.^'      But  as  a  poetical 
rhetorician,  as  a  master  of  versification,  as  an  adept  in  the 
use  of  poetic  forms,  he  has  hardly  ever  been  equalled.  The 
sound  of  silver  trumpets  breathes  through  his  strenuous 
couplets,  and  his  verse  rolls  on,  stately  and  irresistible,  like 
the  march  of  an  army  to  battle. 


APPENDICES. 


APPENDIX    A. 

p.  150.       THE    SIEGE    OF    RHODES. 

As  the  pattern  and  type  of  a  long  line  of  dramas,  ex- 
ceptional in  form  and  anomalous  in  character,  which  we 
have  agreed — for  want  of  an  apter  term — to  call  English 
Operas,  "  The  Siege  of  Rhodes  '^  merits  detailed  comment. 
It  was  also  the  first  drama  in  which  stage  scenery  and 
accessories  were  introduced  on  an  elaborate  and  exten- 
sive scale.  It  was  the  first  in  which  the  heroic  or 
rhymed  couplets  of  the  French  tragedy  were  adopted. 
For  these  reasons,  it  marks  an  epoch  in  our  dramatic 

history. 

From  Davenant's  preface  to  the  first  part,  published  in 
1656,  we  incidentally  learn  the  dimensions  of  the  stage  to 
which  he  was  compelled  to  confine  his  scenic  effects.  He 
speaks  of  it  as  about  "  eleven  feet  in  height  and  about 
fifteen  in  depth,  including  the  places  of  passage  reserved 
for  the  Music."  "This,"  he  adds,  "is  so  narrow  an 
allowance  for  the  fleet  of  Solyman  the  Magnificent,  his 
army,  the  Island  of  Ehodes,  and  the  varieties  attending 
the  Siege  of  the  City,  that  I  fear  you  will  think  we  invite 
you  to  such  a  contracted  trifle  as  that  of  the  Caesars 


,dUb  ■■■■c-  ■-■'■'■MiiwifUMtip'  i#Hjlf  I."  ^-e 


390 


THE    MEEET   MONAKCH  ; 


carved  upon  a  nut."  A  ranch  more  spacious  stage  was 
available  in  the  Duke's  Theatre,  of  which  he  took  the 
direction  after  the  Restoration. 

"  The  Siege  of  Ehodes  ^'  is  divided  into  five  *'  entries  " 
or  set  scenes, — "  tableaux  "  we  suppose  thej  would  now  be 
called.  The  scene  for  the  First  Entry  shows  ''  a  maritime 
coast,  full  of  craggy  rocks  and  high  cliffs,  with  several 
verdures  naturally  growing  upon  such  high  situations; 
and,  afar  off,  the  true  prospect  of  the  city  Ehodes,  when  it 
was  in  prosperous  estate :  with  so  much  view  of  the 
gardens  and  hills  about  it,  as  the  narrowness  of  the  room 
could  allow  the  scene.  In  that  part  of  the  horizon, 
terminated  by  the  sea,  was  represented  the  Turkish  fleet 
making  towards  a  promontory,  some  few  miles  distant 
from  the  town.'' 

The  Entry  is  prefaced  by  Instrumental  Music. 

Enter  Admiral  and  Villerius ;  from  whom  we  learn  that 
the  Turkish  fleet  is  on  its  way  to  attack  Ehodes  and  its 
garrison  of  Christian  knights.  Then  come  in  Alphonso, 
Duke  of  Sicily, — wedded  to  lanthe  only  a  month  ago, — 
and  the  High  Marshal  of  Ehodes,  who  advises  him  to  re- 
turn to  Sicily  before  the  siege  begins.     He  refuses  : — 

"  My  sword  against  proud  Solyman  I  draw, 
His  ciir>Ld  prophet  and  his  sensual  hiw'" — 

a  declaration  repeated  by  the  Chorus  as  all  depart  from 

the  stage.     lanthe  enters  next,   with   her  two   women, 

Melosile  and  Madina,  bearing  caskets  of  jewels.     She  is 

in  Sicily,  but  will  hasten  to  her  husband  in  threatened 

Ehodes,  and  convert  her  jewels  into  arms  and  gunpowder. 

With  a  soldier's  chorus  the  First  Entry  closes,  and  the 

scene  changes  to  the  city  of  Ehodes,  beleaguered  by  sea 
and  land. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


391 


After  the  usual  prelude  of  instruments,  Villerius  and 
the  Admiral  discourse,  and  the  audience  gather  that  the 
siege  has  lasted  for  three  months,  during  which  Duke 
Alphonso's  brilliant  courage  has  inspired  the  soldiers  and 
citizens,  but  that  Christendom,  rent  by  dissension,  will 
not  come  to  sustain  the  Cross  against  the  Crescent. 
Duke  Alphonso  enters,  and  in  lyric  measure  celebrates 
the  brave  deeds  of  the  different  knights.  In  a  strain  of 
despair,  he  adds,  however  — 

"  If  Death  be  rest,  here  let  us  die, 
Where  wearineSvS  is  all 
We  daily  get  by  Victory, 
Who  must  by  Famine  fall. 
Great  Solyman  is  landed  now  ; 
All  Fate  he  seems  to  be  ; 
And  brings  those  tempests  in  his  brow 
Which  he  deserved  at  sea." 

Animated  with  heroic  courage,  the  chivalry  of  Ehodes 
depart  on  their  several  duties ;  and  Solyman  the  Magnifi- 
cent comes  upon  the  stage,  accompanied  by  Pirrus,  his 
Vizier  Bassa  (Pasha),  whom  he  reproaches  for  having 
been  so  long  withstood  by  a  single  city.  He  orders  an 
immediate  assault,  and  Pirrus  having  quitted  him,  breaks 
forth  into  a  lyrical  eulogium  of  the  Christian  skill  in  war, 
while  condemning  the  Christian  proneness  to  love  and 
wine.  Enter  Mustapha,  a  Pasha,  with  lanthe,  veiled, 
who  has  been  captured  by  a  Turkish  squadron  on  her 
voyage  to  Ehodes  : — 

«.  Sohj.—^\'\\^i  is  it  thou  wouldst  show,  and  yet  dost  shroud  ? 
Mus.—l  bring  the  Morning  pictured  in  a  Cloud  .  .  . 
This  is  lanthe,  the  Sicilian  flower, 
Sweeter  than  buds  unfolded  in  a  shower. 
Bride  to  Alphonso,  who  in  Khodes  so  long 
Safe  with  her  lord  when  both  are  free 
And  on  their  course  to  Sicily, 
Then  Rhodes  shall  for  that  valour  mourn 
Which  stops  the  haste  of  our  return." 


392 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


Having  summoned  a  multitude  of  masons  from  Greece, 
Soljman  commands  that,  within  a  month,  a  palace  shall 
be  erected  for  him  on  Mount  Philermus,  so  as  to  overlook 
the  Rhodians,  and  there  he  resolves  that  his  patience  shall 
wear  them  out  if  his  anger  cannot  subdue  them. 

The  scene  changes  to  the  beleaguered  city.  Enter  Ville- 
rius,  Admiral,  Alphonso,  and  lanthe.  Villerius  and  the 
Admiral  extol  the  conjugal  devotion  of  lanthe,  which  has 
been  of  greater  profit  to  Rhodes  than  all  the  princes  of 
Christendom  ;  and  the  Admiral  gallantly  assures  her  that 
they  will  thenceforth  have  a  twofold  object,  to  save  her  as 
well  as  the  city.  Alphonso,  when  left  alone  with  his  wife, 
expresses  his  fears  that  her  presence  will,  for  her  dear  sake, 
make  a  coward  of  him.  lanthe  replies  in  the  true  heroic 
spirit,  and  then  recounts  the  generous  deeds  of  Soly- 
man : — 

"  lanthe.— These  are  the  sninllcst  <,'ifts  his  bounty  know. 
Alpli.—  What  could  he  give  you  more  ? 
lanthe, — He  gave  me  you ; 

And  you  may  homeward  now  securely  go 
Through  all  his  fleet. 
Alph. — But  honour  says  not  so. 
lanthe. — If  that  forbid  it,  you  shall  never  see 
That  I  and  that  will  disagree  ; 
Honour  will  speak  the  same  to  me. 
Aljjh.^This  Christian  Turk  amazes  me,  my  dear." 

—  a   line   in    which   Davenant    has   surely   sounded   the 
depths  of  pathos! 

lanthe  now  departs,  and  Alphonso  confides  to  the 
audience  the  divided  thoughts  which  so  sorely  trouble 
him.     Now  — 

"  The  theme  has  been  of  each  heroic  song ; 
And  she  for  his  relief  those  <ralleys  fraught ; 
Both  stowed  with  what  her  dower  and  jewels  bought." 

She  refuses  to  unveil;   Mustapha  having  sworn  by  the 


OR,    ENGLAND    UNDER   CHARLES   II. 


393 


Prophet  that  he  would  carry  her,  veiled,  to  her  husband 
at  Rhodes,  and  that  only  her  husband  should  lift  the  veil. 
Otherwise  she  would  have  sought  death.  Solyman  bestows 
warm  praise  on  the  generosity  of  his  Pasha,  and  orders 
that  lanthe,  and  her  two  galleys  laden  with  provisions  for 
the  hungering  people  of  Rhodes,  shall  be  conveyed  into 
the  harbour  with  full  martial  honours.  He  adds  that  she 
and  her  husband,  whenever  they  wish  to  leave  the  doomed 
city,  shall  have  free  passage  back  to  Sicily. 

The  "  further  part "  of  the  scene  now  opens,  and  dis- 
plays a  royal  pavilion,  within  which  is  erected  Solyman's 
imperial  throne  :  round  about  are  shown  the  quarters 
of  his  Bassas  and  inferior  officers.  The  entry  is  again 
prefaced  by  instrumental  music.  The  Third  Entry. 
Enter  Solyman,  Pirrus,  Mustapha. 

"  Pirrus. — When  to  all  Rhodes  our  army  does  appear, 
Shall  we  then  make  a  sudden  halt, 
And  give  a  general  assault  ? 
iSy/y .—Pirrus,  not  yet,  lanthe  being  there  : 

Let  them  our  valour  by  our  mercy  prize. 
The  respite  of  this  day 
To  virtuous  love  shall  pay 
A  debt  long  due  for  all  my  victories. 
Must.— If  virtuous  beauty  can  attain  such  grace 
Whilst  she  a  captive  was,  and  bid. 
What  wisdom  can  his  love  forbid 
When  Virtue's  free  and  Beauty  shows  her  face  ? 
^ly .—Despatch  a  trumpet  to  the  town ; 
Summon  lanthe  to  be  gone." 

Enter  Solyman's  wife,  Eoxolana,  attended  by  Pirrus, 
and  Bustan,  another  Pasha.  Having  heard  of  lanthe,  she 
has  been  seized  with  a  fever  of  jealousy,  and  has  hastened 
to  Ehodes,  to  bring  him  "  as  a  present "  before  she  dies 
''  the  heart  which  he  has  forsaken."  The  scene  closes 
with  a  chorus  of  men  and  women  who,  in  musical  strains. 


394 


THE    MERBY    MONARCH; 


■'&■ 


uphold  to  all  husbands  and  wives  the  splendid  example  of 
Alphonso  and  lantlie. 

A  flourish  of  instrumental  music,  and  the  Fourth  Entry 
beorins. 

The  scene  is  varied  to  the  prospect  of  Mount  Philer- 
mus:  Artificers  appearing  at  work  about  that  castle 
which  was  there,  with  wonderful  expedition,  erected  bj 
Soljman.  His  ^reat  army  discovered  in  the  plain  below, 
drawn  up  in  battalia;  as  if  it  were  prepared  for  a  general 
assault." 

Enter  Solyman,  Pirrus,  and  Mustapha.  The  Turkish 
Sultan  is  greatly  surprised  that  Alphonso  and  lanthe 
have  not  availed  themselves  of  his  promised  safe-conduct ; 
but  so  great  is  his  admiration  for  the  matchless  pair  that 
he  resolves  they  shall  not  be  self-sacrificed : — 

"Go,  Mustapha,  and  strictest  orders  give 
Through  all  the  camp,  tliat  in  as^iault  they  spare, 
And  in  the  sack  of  this  presumptuous  town, 
The  lives  of  tliest-  two  sti-aii-tr^  with  a  care 
Above  the  prescrv-ition  of  their  own. 
Alphonso  has  so  oft  his  courage  shown 
That  he  to  all  hut  cowards  mu>t  be  known. 
lanthe  is  so  fair,  that  none  can  be 
Mistaken,  araonir  thousands,  which  is  she." 

The  scene  returns  to  Ehodes.  Enter  Alphonso  and 
lanthe,  the  latter  of  whom  acknowledges  that  they  erred 
through  excess  of  pride  in  not  accepting  the  Sultanas 
generous  promise ;  for  why  should  honour  scorn  to  take 
what  honour's  self  does  offer  ?  Alphonso,  in  the  exagger- 
ation of  chivalry,  replies  : — 

"  To  be  o'ercome  by  his  victorious  sword 
Will  comfort  to  our  fall  afford  : 
Our  strength  may  yield  to  his;  but  'tis  not  fit 
Our  virtue  should  to  his  submit : 
In  that,  lanthe,  I  must  be 
Advanced,  and  greater  far  than  he. 


395 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 

Janihe.—'Ee  is  a  foe  to  Rhodes  and  not  to  you. 

Alph. — In  Rhodes  besieged  we  must  be  Rhodiana  too. 
lanthe.^'Twas  fortune  that  engaged  you  in  this  war. 

Alph. 'Twas  Providence.     Heaven's  prisoners  here  we  are. 

lanthe.— Th^t  Providence  our  freedom  does  restore  ; 
The  hand  that  shut  now  opens  us  the  door. 
Alj)h.—B.ad  Heaven  that  passport  for  our  freedom  sent, 
It  would  have  chosen  some  better  instrument 
Than  faithless  Solyman. 
lanthe. — 0  say  not  so ! 

To  strike  and  wound  the  virtue  of  your  foe 
Is  cruelty  which  war  does  not  allow  : 
Sure  he  has  better  words  deserved  from  you. 
^/i3?i.— From  me,  lanthe,  no  ; 

What  he  deserves  from  yon,  you  best  must  know." 

It  must  be  owned  that  lanthe  in  this  dialogue  appears 
in  a  much  more  amiable  light  than  does  her  husband, 
whose  jealousy  of  Solyman  begins  to  reveal  itself.     lanthe, 
distressed  and  shocked  by  such  a  manifestation,  resolves 
to  seek  her  death  in  the  morrow's  battle.     From  a  sub- 
sequent dialogue  between  Villerius  and  the  Admiral,  we 
learn  that  the  siege  progresses  apace,  that  the  Turks  have 
laid  down   mines  which   the   Ehodians  have  sought  to 
countermine;    but  that   the  courage   and   fine  mind  of 
Duke  Alphonso  are  disordered  by  his  causeless  jealousy. 
In   this   scene  the  jealousy  of  Eoxolana  is  dealt   with. 
The  Sultan  has  refused  to  see  her  before  he  delivers  the 
final  assault,  and  this  refusal  she  attributes  to  his  love 
for  the  beautiful  Sicilian.     The  Entry  closes  with  a  repre- 
sentation of  the  fury  of  the  fight,  which  rages  with  special 
vehemence  about  the  English  station. 

The  Fifth  Entry  opens  with  the  clash  of  arms  and  the 
clang  of  battle.  In  spite  of  the  presence  of  their  Sultan, 
the  Turks  give  way.  In  a  while  they  rally,  and  then  the 
Ehodians  in  their  turn  fall  back;  but  the  English  volun- 
teers refuse  to  budge  an  inch : — 


396 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


"  Musta.— Those  desperate  English  ne'er  will  fly ! 

Their  presence  still  doth  hinder  others'  flight, 
As  if  their  mistresses  were  by 

To  see  and  praise  them  while  they  fight. 
Soly.—Tlmt  flame  of  valonr  in  Alphonso's  eyes 
Outshines  the  light  of  all  my  victories." 

The  English,  at  length,  seem  to  retire ;  and  Soljman 
impels  the  advance,  in  his  haste  to  conquer  the  heroic 
husband  and  wife  whom  his  generosity  desires  to  save. 
Afterwards  comes   a   scene   between  Alphonso  and  the 
Admiral.     The  latter  summons  him  to  assist  his  receding 
force,  but  at  the  same  time  informs  him  that  his  lanthe 
Hes  wounded  in  the  English  quarter.     Now  stands  Al- 
phonso— "  this   way  and  that  dividing  his  swift  mind  " 
as  Tennyson  puts  it.     Rhodes  or  lanthe?     Honour  on  the 
one  side ;  Love  on  the  other.     Love  prevails,  and  Alphonso 
proceeds  to  his  Lxnthe.     Then  enter  Pirrus,  whose  troops 
have   been  repulsed,  with   the   loss  of  seven  crescents. 
Enter  Mustapha,  and  a  good  many  martial  speeches  are 
ground  out.     Enter  Solyman,  who  reproaches  his  army  for 
their  want  of  courage,  and  announces  that  if  he  cannot 
take  Ehodes  by  the  sword,  he  will  reduce  it  by  famine. 
The    scene    changes    to    the    besieged    town.      ''Enter 
Villerius,  Admiral,  lanthe.     She  in  a  night-gown ;  and  a 
chair    is    brought    in."     Her    companions    inform    the 
wounded  heroine  that  her  life  is  in  no  danger  ;  and  that 
the  assault  of  the  Turks  has  been  defeated,  chiefly  by  the 
splendid  courage  of  Alphonso,  who,  like  herself,  is  slightly 
wounded.     He  enters,  led  in  by  two  mutes.     Husband  and 
wife  exchange  affectionately  penitential  speeches;  he,  for 
having  sunk  so  low  as  to  doubt  her  faith  ;  she,  for  having 
taken  umbrage  at  his  jealousy. 

"  ^Z^/i.— Accursed  crime  !     0  let  it  have  no  name 
Till  I  recover  blood  to  show  my  shame. 


OE5  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  397 

lanth.— Why  stay  we  at  such  distance  when  we  treat  ? 
As  monarch's  children  making  love 
By  proxy  to  each  other  move, 
And  by  advice  of  tedious  councils  meet. 
Alph.—Keep  back,  lanthe,  for  my  strength  does  fail 
When  on  thy  cheek  I  see  thy  roses  pale. 
Draw  all  the  curtains,  and  then  lead  her  in ; 
Let  me  in  darkness  mourn  away  my  sin." 

He  is  led  out  by  the  two  mutes,  while  lanthe  is  carried 
away  in  a  sedan-chair!  Enter  Solyman  and  Eoxolana, 
the  latter  attended  by  her  women.  Solyman  reproaches 
her  with  her  jealousy,  which,  he  says,  her  women  have 
inspired  and  cherished.     And  he  concludes  thus  :— 

"  Thy  war  with  Rhodes  will  never  have  success 
Till  I,  at  home,  Roxana,  make  my  peace. 
I  will  be  kind  if  you'll  grow  wise  ; 
Go  chide  your  whisperers  and  your  spies. 
Be  satisfied  with  liberty  to  think  ; 
And  when  you  should  not  see  me,  learn  to  wink". 

The  play  ends  with  a  grand  chorus  of  soldiers  rejoicing 
in  the  discomfiture  of  the  Turks  :— 

"  You  began  the  assault 

With  a  very  long  halt ; 

And  as  halting  ye  came, 

So  ye  went  off  as  lame  ; 
And  have  left  our  Alphonso  to  scoff  ye. 

To  himself  as  a  dainty 

He  keeps  his  lanthe, 
Whilst  we  drink  good  wine,  and  ye  drink  but  coffee  !" 


I 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH. 


399 


APPENDIX  B. 


p.   230. 


"the  man  of  mode." 


Of  "The  Man  of  Mode/'  a  brief  analysis  may  be  in- 
teresting. Dorimont,  the  Man  of  Mode,  belongs  in  many 
respects  to  the  same  category  of  fashionable  and  fascina- 
ting gallants  as  Dryden's  comedy-heroes,  while  the  other 
principal  male  character,  Sir  Fopling  Flutter,  is  his 
counterfoil ;  a  fool  and  a  fribble,  who  imports  his  affecta- 
tions from  France.  In  the  first  scene  of  the  first  Act  we 
find  him  conversing  with  an  orange-girl,  who  informs  him 
that  a  handsome  gentlewoman  and  her  mother,  lately 
come  to  town,  have,  in  their  ignorance,  taken  lodgings  at 
her  house.  They  are  recognized  by  his  friend  Medley, 
who  next  enters,  as  Lady  Woodvil  and  her  wayward,  rich, 
and  lovely  daughter  Harriet.  Lady  Woodvil's  business  in 
London,  of  which  she  has  a  great  horror,  is  to  conclude  a 
marriage  between  Harriet  and  a  certain  young  gentleman, 
named  Bellair,  whose  affections,  however,  have  already 
been  engaged  to  Emilia,  a  ward  of  her  Aunt  Townley.  In 
the  conversation  which  ensues  between  Dorimont,  Medley, 
and  Bellair,  much  cheap  wit  is  employed  in  ridicule  of 
marriage ;  but  Bellair  remains  constant  to  his  loyal  in- 


tentions. He  is  called  away,  and  his  friends  discuss  him. 
•*'He's  handsome,"  says  Dorimont,  '' well-bred,  and  by 
much  the  most  tolerable  of  all  the  young  men  that  do  not 
abound  in  wit."  '^  Ever  well  dressed,"  rejoins  Medley, 
"  always  complaisant,  and  seldom  impertinent ;  you  and 
he  are  grown  very  intimate,  I  see."  "  It  is  our  mutual 
interest  to  be  so :  it  makes  the  women  think  better  of  his 
understanding,  and  judge  more  favourably  of  my  reputa- 
tion :  it  makes  him  pass  upon  some  for  a  man  of  very  good 
sense,  and  I  upon  others  for  a  very  civil  person," 

Thus  we  see  that,  in  the  society  of  the  Restoration,  it 
was  accepted  as  a  law  of  nature  that  wit  and  morality 
could  not  go  together ;  that  a  rake  must  necessarily  be  a 
man  of  parts,  and  a  clean-living  man  a  fool. 

Emilia,  the  lady-love  of  Bellair,  is  worthy  of  him  in  her 
virtue  and  discretion.  Dorimont  has  vainly  endeavoured 
to  subdue  her,  but  still  hopes  for  success  when  she  is 
married.  Meanwhile,  Dorimont  is  engaged  to  Belinda, 
whom  he  has  met,  masked,  at  the  play,  on  condition  that, 
in  her  presence,  he  insults  her  friend  and  his  mistress, 
Mrs.  Lovitt,  as  a  proof  of  his  love.  To  carry  out  this 
gentlemanly  design,  he  has  written  a  note  to  Mrs.  Lovitt, 
appointing  to  call  upon  her  in  the  afternoon ;  and  while, 
preparatory  to  his  visit,  Belinda  agrees  to  excite  Mrs. 
Lovitt's  jealousy,  and  thus  afford  him  an  excuse  for  his 
insults,  and  he  undertakes  to  represent  himself  as  resent- 
ful of  her  attentions  to  Sir  Fopling  Flutter,  though  he 
Tery  well  knows  that  she  hates  him. 

Act  II.  We  now  find  the  elder  Bellair  in  town,  with 
the  intention  of  marrying  his  son  to  the  fair  and  wealthy 
Harriet  Woodvil.  By  a  strange  contretemps,  he  has  taken 
lodgings  in  the  same  house  with  Emilia,  his  son's  lady- 


APPENDIX  B. 


p.   230. 


"the  man  of  mode." 


Of  ''The  Man  of  Mode/'  a  brief  analysis  may  be  in- 
teresting. Dorimont,  the  Man  of  Mode,  belongs  in  many 
respects  to  the  same  category  of  fashionable  and  fascina- 
ting gallants  as  Dryden's  comedy-heroes,  while  the  other 
principal  male  character,  Sir  Fopling  Flutter,  is  his 
counterfoil ;  a  fool  and  a  fribble,  who  imports  his  affecta- 
tions from  France.  In  the  first  scene  of  the  first  Act  we 
find  him  conversing  with  an  orange-girl,  who  informs  him 
that  a  handsome  gentlewoman  and  her  mother,  lately 
come  to  town,  have,  in  their  ignorance,  taken  lodgings  at 
her  house.  They  are  recognized  by  his  friend  Medley, 
who  next  enters,  as  Lady  Woodvil  and  her  wayward,  rich, 
and  lovely  daughter  Harriet.  Lady  Woodvil's  business  in 
London,  of  which  she  has  a  great  horror,  is  to  conclude  a 
marriage  between  Harriet  and  a  certain  young  gentleman, 
named  Bellair,  whose  affections,  however,  have  already 
been  engaged  to  Emilia,  a  ward  of  her  Aunt  Townley.  In 
the  conversation  which  ensues  between  Dorimont,  Medley, 
and  Bellair,  much  cheap  wit  is  employed  in  ridicule  of 
marriage ;  but  Bellair  remains  constant  to  his  loyal  iu- 


THE    MBRRY   MONARCH. 


399 


tentions.  He  is  called  away,  and  his  friends  discuss  him. 
^'He's  handsome,"  says  Dorimont,  '' well-bred,  and  by 
much  the  most  tolerable  of  all  the  young  men  that  do  not 
abound  in  wit."  ''  Ever  well  dressed,"  rejoins  Medley, 
"  always  complaisant,  and  seldom  impertinent ;  you  and 
he  are  grown  very  intimate,  I  see."  "  It  is  our  mutual 
interest  to  be  so  :  it  makes  the  women  think  better  of  his 
understanding,  and  judge  more  favourably  of  my  reputa- 
tion :  it  makes  him  pass  upon  some  for  a  man  of  very  good 
sense,  and  I  upon  others  for  a  very  civil  person," 

Thus  we  see  that,  in  the  society  of  the  Eestoration,  it 
was  accepted  as  a  law  of  nature  that  wit  and  morality 
could  not  go  together ;  that  a  rake  must  necessarily  be  a 
man  of  parts,  and  a  clean-living  man  a  fool. 

Emilia,  the  lady-love  of  Bellair,  is  worthy  of  him  in  her 
virtue  and  discretion.  Dorimont  has  vainly  endeavoured 
to  subdue  her,  but  still  hopes  for  success  when  she  is 
married.  Meanwhile,  Dorimont  is  engaged  to  Belinda, 
whom  he  has  met,  masked,  at  the  play,  on  condition  that, 
in  her  presence,  he  insults  her  friend  and  his  mistress, 
Mrs.  Lovitt,  as  a  proof  of  his  love.  To  carry  out  this 
gentlemanly  design,  he  has  written  a  note  to  Mrs.  Lovitt, 
appointing  to  call  upon  her  in  the  afternoon ;  and  while, 
preparatory  to  his  visit,  Belinda  agrees  to  excite  Mrs. 
Levitt's  jealousy,  and  thus  afford  him  an  excuse  for  his 
insults,  and  he  undertakes  to  represent  himself  as  resent- 
ful of  her  attentions  to  Sii-  Fopling  Flutter,  though  he 
very  well  knows  that  she  hates  him. 

Act  II.  We  now  find  the  elder  Bellair  in  town,  with 
the  intention  of  marrying  his  son  to  the  fair  and  wealthy 
Harriet  Woodvil.  By  a  strange  contretemps,  he  has  taken 
lodijinffs  in  the  same  house  with  Emilia,  his  son's  lady- 


400 


THE   MERRY    MONARCH  ; 


love,  of  whom  he  himself  becomes  enamoured.  The  elder 
Bellair  is  a  country  squire  of  fifty-five,  and  his  suit  to 
Emilia  he  presses  in  rustic  fashion,  applying  rough  names 
to  her  affectionately,  and  swearing,  *^  a-dod,"  that  she  is  a 
beauty  and  a  rogue.  So  the  plot  thickens  between  the 
two  Bellairs  and  Emilia,  and  an  amusing  game  of  cross- 
purposes  is  played.  Meantime,  Belinda,  in  pursuance  of 
her  compact,  calls  on  Mrs.  Lovitt,  and  stirs  up  her  jealous 
wrath ;  Dorimont  enters,  and  a  coarse  scene  follows,  in 
which  this  ^'  man  of  mode  "  wins  the  hand  of  Belinda  by 
his  vulgar  insolence  to  his  discarded  mistress. 

Act  III.  From  a  conversation  between  Harriet  and 
her  woman,  Bury,  we  learn  that  the  former  is  by  no  means 
the  pattern  gentlewoman  her  aunt  imagines  ;  and  that  she 
has  come  to  London  from  no  desire  to  marry  Bellair,  but 
from  a  wish  to  indulge  in  its  dissipations.  She  confesses 
to  have  seen  the  fascinating  Dorimont,  and  to  have  been 
absolutely  charmed  by  him.  Young  Bellair  enters  ;  and 
after  some  sparring  they  agree  that  they  will  not  marry 
one  another,  but  for  the  present  will  amuse  their  parents 
with  a  pretended  engagement.  The  scene  changes  to  a 
crush  at  Lady  Townley's,  where  Sir  Fopling  Flutter 
appears,  and  Dorimont  and  Medley  befool  him  to  the  great 
entertainment  of  the  men  and  women  of  fashion  present. 
Next  we  pass  to  the  fashionable  promenade  of  the  Mall, 
where  the  gallants  muster  in  great  force;  Dorimont 
attends  sedulously  upon  Harriet,  while  Mrs.  Lovitt  and 
Sir  Fopling  Flutter  indulge  in  a  mild  flirtation.  In  the 
evening  there  is  to  be  a  dance  at  Lady  Townley's,  at  which 
Dorimont  will  be  present  under  the  name  of  Mr.  Courtage 
— in  order  not  to  alarm  Lady  Woodvil — and  intends  to 
prosecute  his  suit  to  the  wild,  witty,  lovesome,  and 
beautiful  Harriet. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


401 


Act  IV.  Country  dance  at  Lady  Townley's.  The  pre- 
tended Mr.  Courtage  produces  a  favourable  impression  on 
Lady  Woodvil,  while  old  Bellair  dances  attendance  upon 
Emilia.  Sir  Fopling  and  masquers  enter;  and  the  scene 
is  one  of  wild  dissipation,  which  does  not  close  until  dawn 
of  day.  Old  Bellair  retires  to  his  wine,  and  Dorimont 
steals  away  to  keep  an  appointment  with  Belinda,  who, 
with  delightful  modesty,  has  promised  to  visit  him  in  his 
lodgings  at  five  in  the  morning.  We  are  introduced  to 
his  lodgings  just  as  Belinda  is  leaving,  having  obtained 
Dorimont's  promise  that  he  will  give  up  Mrs.  Lovitt.  Sir 
Fopling  and  a  party  of  roysterers  suddenly  break  in  upon 
them ;  and  with  difficulty  Belinda  escapes  by  a  back-stair 
into  a  sedan-chair,  which,  as  she,  in  her  confusion,  forgets 
to  give  any  instructions,  is  set  down  at  the  accustomed 
spot,  near  Mrs.  Levitt's  door  in  the  Mall.  As  Belinda  is 
seen  by  Mrs.  Lovitt's  maid,  she  must  needs  pretend  that 
she  has  come  to  pay  her  a  visit,  and  accounts  for  the  early 
hour  by  saying  that  some  Welsh  cousins  had  pressed  her 
to  accompany  them  to  buy  flowers  and  fruit  at  Covent 
Garden.  She  has  bribed  the  chairmen  to  say  that  they 
took  her  up  in  the  Strand,  near  the  well-known  Market, 
which  even  then,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  had  acquired  a  reputation. 

Act  V.  Belinda's  quick  invention  is  accepted  by  her 
friend;  but  Dorimont  suddenly  makes  his  appearance, 
and,  much  agitated,  she  retires  into  another  room.  His 
object  is  to  recover  his  influence  over  Mrs.  Lovitt,  so  that 
she  may  compensate  him  for  her  studied  neglect  of  him 
in  the  Mall  by  publicly  insulting  Sir  Fopling  before  his 
friends.  Belinda  breaks  in  upon  them,  and  hurls  re- 
proaches  at   Dorimont,  of  which  Mrs.   Lovitt  partially 


VOL.    I. 


DD 


402 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH. 


guesses  the  meaning.  We  pass  on  to  Lady  Townley's 
house,  and  discover  that  Smirk,  a  domestic  chaplain,  has, 
with  her  Ladyship's  sanction,  married  Emilia  to  Bellair 
the  younger.  When  old  Bellair  and  others  enter,  he  is 
hurriedly  concealed  in  a  cupboard.  Old  Bellair  has  every- 
thing prepared  for  his  marriage  to  Emilia,  and  Dori- 
mont  has  contrived  to  bind  his  lofty  self  to  nuptials  with 
the  witty  and  lovesome  Harriet.  But  when  Smirk,  the 
chaplain,  is  released  from  his  cupboard  to  perform  the 
ceremony  for  the  elder  Bellair  and  Emilia,  he  refuses,  on 
the  ground  that  he  has  already  married  the  young  lady 
once  that  morning.  The  denouement  provokes  much 
laughter;  old  Bellair  comes  in  for  a  good  deal  of  ridicule  ; 
and  the  young  couple  are  duly  forgiven. 

As  a  picture  of  "  high  life,''  suh  Carolo  Secundo  rege^ 
"  The  Man  of  Mode  "  is  not  without  its  value ;  but  the 
coarseness  of  its  tone  and  the  corruption  of  its  atmosphere 
point  to  the  unhealthy  condition  of  Society  which  then  ob- 
tained. Love  is  burlesqued  and  degraded;  marriage 
laughed  at ;  woman's  virtue  and  man's  honour  are  repre- 
sented as  the  dreams  of  fastidious  minds  ;  and  the  drama- 
tist seems  wholly  unable  to  perceive  that  the  hero  on  whom 
he  has  lavished  so  much  pains,  whom  he  so  triumphantly 
puts  forward  as  the  mirror  of  fashion  and  the  ideal  of 
a  gentleman,  is  nothing  after  all  but  a  libertine  and  a 
snob.  If  a  man  is  to  be  judged  by  the  company  he  seeks, 
we  ought  to  judge  a  playwright  by  the  heroes  he  invents. 


APPENDIX. 


CHAPTER    III. 


P.  143.  Arrowsmith's  comedy,  "The  Reformation," 
was  published  in  1673.  It  was  originally  produced  at  the 
Duke's  Theatre.  Downes,  in  his  Eoscius  AnglicanuSy 
says :  "  The  Reformation  in  the  play  being  the  reverse  to 
the  laws  of  morality  and  virtue,  it  quickly  made  its  exit  to 
make  way  for  a  moral  one,"  i.e.,  Davenant's  alteration  of 
"Macbeth."  It  seems  to  have  been  partly  directed 
against  Dryden. 

P.  144.  Sir  Richard  Steele's  criticism  of  Banks's 
tragedy,  "  The  Unhappy  Favourite,"  is  as  follows  :  "  There 
is  in  it  not  one  good  line,  and  yet  it  is  a  play  which  was  never 
seen  without  drawing  tears  from  some  part  of  the 
audience  :  a  remarkable  instance  that  the  soul  is  not  to 
be  moved  by  words,  but  things ;  for  the  incidents  in  this 
drama  are  laid  together  so  happily  that  the  spectator 
makes  the  play  for  himself,  by  the  force  which  the  cir- 
cumstance has  upon  his  imagination.  Thus,  in  spite  of 
the  most  dry  discourses,  and  expressions  almost  ridiculous 
with  respect  to  propriety,  it  is  impossible  for  one  unpreju- 
diced to  see  it  untouched  with  pity.     I  must  confess  this 


404 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


effect  is  not  wrought  on  such  as  examine  why  they  are 
pleased;  but  it  never  fails  to  appear  on  those  who  are 
not  too  learned  in  nature  to  be  moved  by  her  first  sugges- 
tions/' 

P.  144.  Baker  ascribes  three  tragedies  to  the  surgeon, 
John  Bancroft :  "  Sertorius/'  1679  ;  "  Henry  II.,"  1693  ; 
and  ^^  Edward  III.,"  1691. 

P.  145.  Alexander  Brome's  "Cunning  Lovers^'  is 
founded  on  "  The  Seven  Wise  Masters  of  Eome,"  Dave- 
nant's  ^^Unfortunate  Lovers,"  and  a  novel  called  '*  The 
Fortunate  Deceived." 

P.  147.  Lord  Orrery's  plays,  in  chronological  order, 
are  :  "  Mustapha  "  (tragedy),  1668  ;  "  Henry  V.  " 
(tragedy),  1672;  "The  Black  Prince"  (tragedy),  1669; 
^^Tryphon"  (tragedy),  1669;  "Mr.  Anthony"  (comedy), 
1690;  "Guzman''  (comedy),  1693;  "Herod"  (tragedy), 
1691  ;   "Altemira"  (tragedy),  1702. 

P.  148.  Of  John  Corye,  or  Corey,  nothing  is  known  but 
that  he  lived  in  Charles  II.'s  reign,  and  produced  one 
comedy,  which  is  a  plagiarism  from  various  authors — 
Quinault,  Corneille,Eandolph,  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher. 
It  was  published  in  1672,  under  the  title  of  "  The  Generous 
Enemies ;  or,  The  Ridiculous  Lovers." 

P.  149.  We  subjoin  a  complete  list  of  Crowne's 
dramatic  compositions  : — 

"Juliana"  (tragi-comedy),  1671  ;  "Charles  VIII.  of 
France,"  1672;  "The  Country  Wit"  (comedy),  1675; 
"Andromache,"  1675;  "Calisto"  (a  masque),  1675; 
"  City  Politiques  "  (comedy),  1675  ;  "The  Destruction  of 
Jerusalem"  (a  tragedy,  in  two  parts),  1677;  "The 
Ambitious  Statesman"  (tragedy),  1679;  "The  Misery  of 
Civil  War"  (tragedy),  1680;  "Henry  YI."  (tragedy,  in 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


405 


two  parts),  1685;    "Thyestes"    (tragedy),   1681;    "Sir 
Courtly    Mce"    (comedy),    1685;    "Darius"    (tragedy), 
1688;  "The  English  Friar"  (comedy),  1690;  "Eegulus" 
(tragedy),  1694;  "The  Married  Beau"  (comedy),  1694; 
"Caligula"     (tragedy),     1698;     and     "Justice     Busy" 
(comedy),  not  printed.     In    reference    to    "  Sir  Courtly 
Nice,"    Crowne's   best  play,    John    Dennis,    the    critic, 
says  :    "  All  that  is  of  English  growth  in  it  is  admirable ; 
for  though  we  find  in  it  neither  the  fine  designs  of  Ben 
Jonson,  nor  the  general  and  masculine  wit  of  Wycherley, 
nor  that  grace,  that  delicacy,  nor  that  courtly  air  which 
make  the  charms  of  Etherege;  yet  is   the   dialogue  so 
lively  and  so  spirited,  and  so  attractively  diversified  and 
adapted  to  the  several  characters;  four  of  those  characters 
are  so  entirely  new,  yet  so  general  and  so  important,  are 
drawn  so  truly  and  so  graphically,  and  opposed  to  each 
other ;    Surly  to  Sir  Courtly,  and  Hothead  to  Testimony, 
with  such  a  strong  and  entire  opposition ;  those  extremes 
of  behaviour,  the  one  of  which  is  the  grievance,  and  the 
other  the  plague  of  society  and  conversation;   excessive 
ceremony  on   one   side,  and   on  the   other  rudeness  and 
brutality,  are  so  finely  exposed  in  Surly  and  Sir  Courtly; 
and  those  divisions  and  animosities  in  the  two  great  parties 
of  England,  which  have  so  long  disturbed  the  public  quiet 
and  undermined  the  public  interest,  are  so  happily  repre- 
sented and  ridiculed  in  Testimony   and   Hothead,   that 
though  I  have   more  than  twenty  times  read  over  this 
charming  comedy,  yet  I  have  always  I'ead  it  not  only 
with  delight  but  rapture ;    and  it  is  my  opinion,  that  the 
greatest  comic  poet  that  ever  lived  in  any  age  might  have 
been  proud  to  be  the  author  of  it." 

P.  150.     To  the  list  of  Sir  William  Davenant's  plays 


406 


THE   MEERr   MONARCH  ; 


here  given  must  be  added :   "  Britannia  Triuinphans  "  (a 
masque),  1637;    ^^Salmacida  Spolia"   (a  masque),  1639; 
" Love  and  Honour/'  1649;    "Entertainment  at  Eutland 
House,"  1656  ;   "  The  Cruelty  of  the  Spaniards  in  Peru," 
1658;    '^History   of    Sir    Francis   Drake,"   1659;    "The 
Fair  Favourite,"  1673;    "Law   against   Lovers,"    1673; 
"  News  from  Plymouth,"  1673  ;    "  Play-house  to  be  Let," 
J 673;     "The   Siege,"    1673;    "The    Distresses,"  1673; 
and     alteration    of    "Macbeth,"    for    which     Matthew 
Locke  wrote  his  celebrated  "Music."     With  respect  to 
"  Love  and  Honour,"  a  tragi-comedy,  of  which  the  scene 
lies  in  Savoy,  Downes  tells  us  that  it  was  produced  with 
much  splendour  of  costume ;    the  King  giving  Betterton 
his  coronation  suit,  in  which  he  acted  the  part  of  Prince 
Alvaro;   the  Duke  of  York  giving  his  to  Mr.  Harris,  in 
which  he  played  Count  Prospero  ;    and  Lord  Oxford  gave 
his  to  Mr.  Pain,  who  performed  Lionel.     It  was  originally 
called   "The   Courage   of    Love,"    and    was    afterwards 
named  by   Sir   Henry   Herbert,    at   Davenant's   request, 
"The  Nonpareilles ;   or.  The  xMatchless  Maids."       "The 
Man^s  the  Master"  (borrowed  from  Scarron's  Jodelet  and 
L'Heritier  Ridicule)  was  the  last  play  written  by  Dave- 
nant,  being  finished  not  long  before  his  death. 

P.  161.  Dryden's  tragi-comedy  of  "Secret  Love"  is 
founded,  according  to  Baker,  on  a  novel  called  "The 
History  of  Cleobuline,  Queen  of  Corinth,"  pt.  vii.,  book  7, 
under  whose  character  that  of  the  celebrated  Christina, 
of  Sweden  has  been  confidently  affirmed  to  be  represented. 
The  characters  of  Celadon,  Florimel,  Olinda,  and  Sabina 
are  borrowed  from  the  history  of  Pisistrata  and  Corintha, 
in  The  Grand  Cyrus,  pt.  ix.,  ver.  3  ;  and  that  of  the  French 
Marquis    from  Ibrahim,  pt.  ii.,  ver.  1.     Dry  den  has  also 


ORj  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


407 


made   some  use   of    Shirley's  "  Changes ;  or.  Love  in  a 
Maze." 

P.  193.  "  The  Spanish  Friar  "  was  severely  criticised 
on  its  first  appearance  both  by  Dryden's  personal  enemies 
and  the  partisans  of  the  Duke  of  York.  The  former 
declared  it  was  mainly  stolen  from  other  authors  ;  the 
latter  affirmed  that  it  attacked  the  Roman  religion.  In 
respect  to  the  latter  charge,  Charles  XL  said  that  knaves 
itt  every  profession  should  be  alike  subject  to  ridicule ; 
and  as  to  the  former,  he  exclaimed,  "  God's  fish!  steal  me 
such  another  play  any  of  you,  and  I'll  frequent  it  as  much 
as  I  do  the  '  Spanish  Friar.'  " 

P.  200,  Dryden's  "  Albion  and  Albanius."  Downes 
records  that  this  play  happening  to  be  performed  at  an 
unlucky  time — the  very  day  on  which  the  Duke  of  Mon- 
mouth landed  in  the  West — it  ran  but  six  nights. 

P,  201.  "  Don  Sebastian."  See  Addison's  criticism  on 
this  play  in  The  Guardian,  No.  ex. 

P.  224.  Tlie  complete  list  of  D'Urfey's  dramatic  com- 
positions is  as  follows  : — "  Siege  of  Memphis  "  (t.),  1676; 
"Fond  Husband;  or,  The  Plotting  Sisters"  (c),  1676; 
"Madame  Fickle  "  (c),  1677  ;  "  Fool  turned  Critic  "  (c), 
1678  ;  "  Trick  for  Trick  "  (c),  1678 ;  "  Squire  Old  Sapp  " 
(c),  1679;  "Virtuous  Wife"  (c),  1680;  "Sir  Barnaby 
"Whigg"  (c),  1681;  "Royalist"  (c),  1682;  "Injured 
Princess"  (t.-c),  1682;  "Commonwealth  of  Women," 
1686;  "Banditti,"  1686;  "Fool's  Preferment;  or, Three 
Dukes  of  Dunstable"  (c),  1688;  "  Bussy  D'Ambois  " 
(t.),  1691;  "Love  for  Money"  (c),  1691;  "Marriage- 
Hater  Matched "  (c),  1692  ;  "  The  Eichmond  Heiress  ;  or, 
A  Woman  Once  in  the  Right  "  (c),  1693  ;  "  Don  Quixote  " 
(in  three  parts),  1694-6  ;  "  Cjnthia  and  Endymion  "  (op.), 


408 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH  ; 


1697;  "Intrigues  at  Versailles"  (c),  1697;  ^'Cam- 
paigners '^  (c),  1698  ;  "Masaniello  "  (play,  in  two  parts), 
1699-1700 ;  "  Bath  "  (c),  1701 ;  "  Wonders  in  the  Sun  '^ 
(comic  opera),  1706;  "Modern  Prophets"  (c),  1709; 
''  Old  Mode  and  the  New  "  (c),  1709  ;  ''  The  Two  Queens 
of  Brentford;"  '^Grecian  Heroine"  (t.),  1721;  and 
"  Ariadne  "  (opera),  1 72 1 . 

P.  235.  The  Hon.  Edward  Howard's  plays  are  : 
"Usurper"  (t.),  1668;  ''Six  Days'  Adventure"  (c), 
1671;  "The  Women's  Conquest"  (tragi-com.),  1671; 
"Man  of  Newmarket"  (c),  1G7S;  "The  Change  of 
Crowns  ;  "  "  The  London  Gentleman  ; "  and  "  The  United 
Kingdoms."     The  last  three  were  not  printed. 

P.  236.  The  Hon.  James  Howard  [)i'oduced  a  perversion 
of  "Eomeo  and  Juliet,"  in  which  both  the  hero  and  the 
heroine  were  preserved  alive ;  it  was  never  printed. 
Besides  the  comedy  of  "The  English  Musician/'  he  wrote, 
in  1G72,  "  All  Mistaken." 

P.  236.  Thomas  Killigrew's  plays  are :  "  Prisoners  " 
(t.-c.) ;  "Claricilla"  (t.-c.) ;  "  Princess  ;  or.  Love  at  First 
Sight"  (t.-c);  "Parson's  Wedding"  (c.) ;  "Pilgrim" 
(t.)  ;  "  Cicilia  and  Clorinda  ;  or,  Love  in  Arms  '^  (t.-c, 
in  two  parts) ;  "  Thomaso  "  (c,  in  two  parts)  ;  "  Bella- 
mira,  her  Dream ;  or.  The  Love  of  Shadows "  (in  two 
parts) .  In  "  The  Parson's  Wedding,"  the  device  employed 
by  Careless  and  Wild  to  beguile  Lady  Wild  and  Mrs. 
Pleasance  into  marriage  seems  borrowed  from  Marmioa 
Shakerley's  "Antiquary"  and  Lodowick  Barry's  "  Ham 
Alley." 

P.  236.  Sir  William  Killigrew  was  the  author  of 
"Pandora;  or.  The  Converts,"  1661,  originally  a  tragedy, 
but  altered  into  a  comedy  to  please   the  public   taste; 


i| 


OK,    ENGLAND    UNDER   CHARLES   II. 


409 


^'Ormasdes;  or,  Love  and  Friendship"  (t.-c),  1665; 
"Selindra,"  1665;  "The  Siege  of  Urbin,^^  1666;  and 
''  The  Lnperial  Tragedy,"  1 669. 

P.  213.  The  prologue  to  Lacy's  "  Sir  Hercules  Buffoon  " 
was  written  by  Tom  D'Urfey,  who  refers  to  its  post- 
humous character : — 

"  Know  that  famed  Lacy,  ornament  o'  tli'  stage, 
That  standard  of  true  comedy  in  our  age, 
Wrote  this  new  play — 

And  if  it  takes  not,  all  that  we  can  say  on't 
Is,  weVe  h'la  fiddle,  not  his  hands,  to  play  on't.'* 

P.  258.  Nevil  Payne  was  the  reputed  author  of  three 
plays:  "  The  PatalJealousy  "  (t.),  1673;  "  The  Morning 
Eamble  "  (c),  1673 ;  and  "  The  Siege  of  Constantinople; 
(t.),  1675.  "  The  Fatal  Jealousy  "  is  borrowed  from  "  The 
Unfortunate  Lovers  "  in  Beard's  "  Theatre." 

P.  259.  "  Tom  Essence ;  or,  The  Modish  Wife,"  by 
Thomas  Eawlins,  is  founded  on  two  French  comedies,  the 
"Cocu  Imaginaire"  of  Moliere  and  the  "Don  Cesar 
d'Alvaros"  of  Corneille.  Rawlins  died  in  1673.  The 
pieces  which  pass  under  his  name,  in  addition  to  "  Tom 
Essence,"  are  "Eebellion  "  (a  tragedy),  1640  ;  and  "  Tun- 
bridge  Wells  ''  (a  comedy),  1678.  In  the  preface  to  his 
tragedy  he  says :  "  Take  no  notice  of  my  name,  for  a 
second  work  of  this  nature  shall  hardly  bear  it.  I  have 
no  desire  to  be  known  by  a  threadhm^e  coat,  having  a 
calling  that  will  maintain  it  woolly,'* 

P.  259.  In  this  chapter  we  have  accidentally  omitted 
the  name  of  Edward  Eavenscroft,  who  lived  in  the  rei^n 
of  Charles  II.  and  his  two  successors,  and  deserves  men- 
tion as  one  of  the  very  worst  of  the  Eestoration 
dramatists.  His  compositions,  or  rather,  compilations, 
are  twelve   in  number:    "Careless   Lovers"  (c),  1673; 


410 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


"  Mamamouchi "  (c),  1675;  '^  Scaramouch,  a  Philoso- 
pher" (c),  1677;  '^ Wrangling  Lovers"  (c),  1677; 
''King  Edgar  and  Alfreda"  (t.-c),  1677;  "English 
Lawyer"  (c),  1678;  "London  Cuckolds"  (c),  1682; 
*' Dame  Dobson"  (c),  1684;  "Titus  Andronicus "  (t.), 
1687;  '^Canterbury  Guests"  (c),  1695;  "Anatomist" 
(c),  1697;  and  "Italian  Husband"  (t.),  1698.  "Mama- 
mouchi ;  or,  The  Citizen  turned  Gentleman/'  is  borrowed 
wholesale,  without  acknowledgment^  from  Moliere's 
"  Monsieur  Pourceaugnac "  and  "  Bourgeois  Gentil- 
homme."  In  like  manner,  as  Langbaine  points  out, 
"Scaramouch,  a  Philosopher"  is  taken  from  Moliere. 
In  "The  Wrangling  Lovers;  or,  The  Invisible  Mistress," 
Moliere  has  again  been  laid  under  contribution. 

P.  259.  Of  Revet's  comedy  of  "  The  Town  Shifts ;  or. 
Suburb  Justice,"  acted  at  the  Duke's  Theatre  in  1671, 
Langbaine  speaks  as  an  instructive  and  moral  piece,  and 
bestows  much  praise  on  one  of  the  characters,  Lovewell, 
who,  though  reduced  to  poverty,  not  only  maintains  in 
his  own  actions  the  principles  of  "  innate  honesty  and 
integrity,"  but  even  labours  to  recommend  them  to  his 
two  comrades,  Friendly  and  Faithful.  According  to  the 
preface,  this  play  was  begun  and  finished  in  a  fortnight. 
The  world  would  have  sustained  no  loss  if  it  had  never 
been  begun,  or  never  finished. 

P.  260.  According  to  Langbaine,  Charles  Saunders 
was  a  King's  Scholar  at  Westminster  School  when  he 
produced  his  tragedy  of  "  Tamerlane  the  Great,"  which 
is  warmly  praised  by  Banks  and  other  of  his  contem- 
poraries. 

P.  264.  We  subjoin  a  complete  list  of  Elkanah  Settle's 
dramatic  compositions  : — 


J 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  IT. 


411 


(€ 


a 


"Cambyses,  King  of  Persia'^  (t.),  1671 ;  "The  Empress 
of  Morocco"  (t.),  1673;  "Love  and  Eevenge  "  (t.),  1675  ; 

The  Conquest   of   China   by  the    Tartars"  (t.),  1676; 

Ibrahim,  the   Illustrious  Bassa"    (t.),   1677;    "Pastor 
Fido;   or,    The    Faithful   Shepherd"    (pastoral),    1677; 
"Fatal  Love;  or.  The  Forced  Inconstancy"   (t.),  1680; 
"  The  Female  Prelate :  being  the  History  of  the  Life  and 
Death  of  Pope  Joan  "  (t.),  1680  ;  "  The  Heir  of  Morocco  " 
(t.),   1682;  "Distressed  Innocence;  or.  The  Princess  of 
Persia"    (t.),    1691;    "JSTew   Athenian   Comedy,"    1693; 
"The  Ambitious  Slave;  or,  A  Generous  Revenge"  (t.), 
1691;  "Philaster;  or.    Love   Lies   a    Bleeding"    (t.  c), 
1695;  "The  World  in  the  Moon  "  (opera),  1697  ;  '^  The 
Virgin  Prophetess  ;  or,  The  Fate  of  Troy  "  (opera),  1701  ; 
"The  Siege  of  Troy,"   1707;    "City   Ramble;  or.   The 
Playhouse    Wedding"    (c),    1711;    and    ^^  The    Lady's 
Triumph"  (comic  opera),  1718.     "  Philaster  "  was   i^eau- 
mont  and  Fletcher's  play,  with   the   two   last  acts   re- 
written. 

P.  272.  By  a  misprint  Shadwell's  comedy  of  ''The 
Scowerers"  has  been  turned  into  "The  Scriveners." 
From  Lady  Gimcmck  in  "  The  Virtuoso,"  Congreve  has 
evidently  borrowed  his  Lady  Fbjaiit  in  "The  Double 
Dealer."  "The  Miser,"  1672,  is  an  adaptation  from 
Moliere's  "  L'Avare."  "Psyche,"  1675,  is  what  we 
should  now  call  a  spectacular  drama.  Music,  dancing, 
and  scenery  secured  for  it  a  great  success.  It  is  founded 
on  "  The  Golden  Ass,"  by  Apuleins,  and  "  Psyche  "  by 
Moliere.  "  The  Woman-Captain,"  acted  at  the  Duke's 
Theatre  in  1680,  is  full  of  lively  incident.  In  his  pre- 
face to  "  Bury  Fair,"  the  author  says  that  his  comedy 
was   written   "during   eight   months  painful    sickness; 


412 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


wherein  all  the  several  days  in  which  I  was  able  to  write 
any  part  of  a  scene,  amounted  not  to  one  month,  except 
some  few  which  were  employed  in  indispensable  business." 
"  The  Amorous  Bigot,  with  the  second  part  of  Teague 
O'Divelly,"  is  very  inferior  to  "  The  Lancashire  Witches/' 
111  1G93  was  published  a  posthumous  comedy  by  Shadwell, 
"  The  Volunteers ;  or,  The  Stock-jobbers." 

P.  276.      The  dates  of  Southern's  dramatic  composi- 
tions are: — ^'  The  Loyal  Brother;  or,  The  Persian  Prince" 
(t.),    1(.;S2;    "The    Disappointment"    (c),     1681;    ''Sir 
Antuny  Love  ;  or,  The  lianibling  Lady  "  (c),  1G91 ;  "  The 
Wives'    I-xcuse;   or,   Cuckolds  Make    Themselves"    (c), 
1G92  ;  "The   Maid's    Last  Prayer;  or.  Anything  rather 
than   Fail"   (c),  1693;  "The  Fatal  Marriage;  or.  The 
Innocent  Adultery"   (t.),  1G91;  "Oroonoko"  (t.),  1696; 
"  Tie  Fate  of  Capua"  (t.),  1700  ;  "  The  Spartan  Dame  " 
(t.),1719;  and  "Money  the  Mistress"  (a play),  1726.  The 
plot  of  •'  The  Loyal  Brother  "  is  taken  from  an  old  fiction, 
called   "  Tachmas,  Prince  of  Persia."       That  of   "The 
Disappointment ;    or.    The  ^Mother  in    Fashion,"   partly 
from    "The   Curious   Impertinent"   in    "Don  Quixote." 
"  ]\Ioney  the  Mistress,"  when  produced  at  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  proved  a  failure.     Southern,  who  was  then  in  his 
67th  year,  was  behind  the  scenes  when,  on  the  first  night, 
the     audience     were     hissing     vigorously.       Rich,    the 
prompter,  w^ho  was  standing  by  his  side,  asked  him  if  he 
heard  what  the  audience  were  doing'?     "  No,  sir,"  replied 
Southern,    "  I  am  very  deaf."      "  The   Spartan  Dame  " 
was  written  in  1687,  though  not  acted  until  1719,  when 
its  success  was  so  great  that  the  author's  profits  amounted 
to  £500.     The  subject  is  derived  from  Plutarch's  "  Life  of 
Aofis." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


4ia 


P.  279.  The  music  to  Sir  Robert  Stapylton's  comedy 
of  "  The  Stepmother  "  was  composed  by  Matthew  Lock. 
Two  Masques  are  introduced,  called  "  Apollo's "  and 
"Diana's." 

P.  280.  We  give  a  full  list  of  Nahum  Tate's  dramatic 
compositions :—"  Brutus  of  Alba"  (t.),  1678;  "The 
Loyal  General"  (t.),  1680;  "Richard  IL  ;  or.  The  Sicilian 
Usurper,"  1681 ;  "The  Ingratitude  of  a  Commonwealth; 
or,  The  Fall  of  Coriolanus,"  1682  ;  "  Cuckold's  Haven;  or, 
An  Alderman  no  Conjurer  "  (f.),  1685  ;  "  A  Duke  and  JSTo 
Duke"  (f.),  1685;  "The  Island  Princess  "  (t.-c),  1687  ; 
"Injured  Love;  or,  The  Cruel  Husband  (t.),  1707; 
"Dido  and  ^Erieas "  (op.).  None  of  these  have  any 
originality.  The  last-named  is  simply  a  bad  abridgment 
of  Webster's  "  White  Devil." 

P.  281.  Sir  Samuel  Tuke  was  of  Temple  Cressy,  in  the 
county  of  Essex,  and  a  Colonel  of  horse  in  the  service  of 
Charles  L,  "  while  the  afi^iirs  of  that  monarch  wore  any 
appearance  of  success."  He  was  created  a  baronet  in 
March,  1664,  and  died  at  Somerset  House  on  Januxrv 
26th,  1673.  His  one  dramatic  effort  was  extraordinarily 
successful.  Echard  says  of  it: — "This  is  one  of  the 
pleasantest  stories  that  ever  appeared  upon  our  stage, 
and  has  as  much  variety  of  plots  and  intrigues,  without 
anything  being  precipitated,  improper,  or  unnatural,  as 
to  the  main  action." 

P.  296.  A  note  or  two  on  Mrs.  Behn's  plays  may  be 
acceptable.  The  two  parts  of  "The  Rover"  are  described 
as  "both  of  them  very  entertaining  ;  they  contain  much 
business,  bustle,  and  intrigue,  supported  with  an  infinite 
deal  of  sprightliness."  The  plot  is  based  upon  Killigrew's 
"  Don  Thomaso."    In  reference  to  "  The  Forced  Marriage  '* 


414 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


we  are  told  that  Otwaj,  the  poet,  having  expressed  an 
inclination   to  turn  actor,  Mrs.  Behn  gave  him  the  king 
in  this  play  as  a  probation  part ;  "  but,  not  having  been 
used  to  the  stage,  the  appearance  of  a  full  audience  put 
him  into  such  confusion  as  effectually  spoiled  him  for  an 
actor."     The  comedy  of  "  The  Amorous  Prince ;  or.  The 
Curious  Husband"  is  chiefly  bas  ed  on  Cervantes'  novel  of 
^'The  Curious  Impertinent,"  for   which  the  old  dramatists 
had  a  curious  fancy.       "  The  Dutch  Lover"  is  from  a 
Spanish  source.     "  Abdelazar;  or.  The  Moor's  Eevenge," 
is  an  adaptation  of  Marlowe's  "  Lust's  Dominion."     "  The 
Town  Fop;   or.  Sir  Timothy  Tawdry  "  is  largely  borrowed 
from  George   Wilkins's  comedy,  ''The  Miseries  of   En- 
forced Marriage."     The  prologue  and  epilogue    to ''The 
Debauchee"     (an  adaptation  of  Eichard  Brome's  "Mad 
Couple    Well    Matched")  were   written  by  the  Earl  of 
Eochester.     Hints  for  "  Sir  Patient  Fancy  "  have  been 
borrowed  from  Moliere's  "  :^^alade  Imaginaire"  and  "M. 
Pourceaugnac."      The  dedication  of  ''The  Feigned  Cour- 
tesans ;  or,  A  Night's  Intrigue,"  to  Nell  Gwynn,  contains 
the  following   extraordinary  passage: — "I   with   shame 
look  back  on  my  past  ignorance,  which  suffered  me  not 
to  pay  an  adoration  long  since  where  there  was  so  very 
much  due ;  yet  even  now,  though  secure  in  my  opinion, 
I  make  this   sacrifice  with  infinite  fear  and  trembling; 
well  knowing  that  so  excellent  and  perfect  a  creature  as 
yourself  differs  only  from  the  Divine  Powers  (!)  in  this  : 
the  offerings   made  to  you  ought  to  be  vvortliy  of  you, 
whilst  ^Afiy  accept  the  will  alone."     "The  City  Heiress  ; 
or,  Sir  Timothy   Treatall"   is  largely    plagiarised   from 
Middleton's    ^' Mad    World,    my    Masters,'*   Massinger's 
"Guardian,"  and  Middleton's   "Inner  Temple  Masque." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


415 


t 


The  prologue  was  written  by  Otway.     "  The  Eoundheads ; 
or,  The  Good  Old  Cause  "  is  greatly  indebted  to  Tatham's 
comedy  of  "  The  Eump."      The  tragi-comedy  of  "  The 
Young  King;  or.  The  Mistake  "  owes  its  plot  to  the  story 
of  Alcamenes  and  Menalippe  in    CalprenMe's  romance 
of    "  Cleopatre."     In  indelicacy   "  The    Lucky   Chance ; 
or,  An  Alderman's  Bargain"  probably  surpasses  all  that 
Mrs.  Behn  ever  wrote.     The  farce  of  "  The  Emperor  of 
the  Moon  "  is  from  the  French  piece,  "Arlequin  Empereur 
dans  la  Monde  de  la  Lune."     "  The  Widow  Eanter;  or. 
The  History  of  Bacon  in  Virginia  "  is  borrowed  from  the 
well-known  story  of  Cassius  who,  in  the  belief  his  friend 
Brutus  had  been  defeated,  caused  himself  to  be  put  to 
death  by  the  hand  of  his  freedman  Dandorus. 


END   OF   VOL.    I. 


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SjI!:. 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


OR, 


ENGLAND   UNDER   CHARLES   IL 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OK, 


ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  IL 


ITS     ART,    LITURATUBE,    AXD     SOCIETY. 


BY 


w 


H.     DAVENPORT     ADAMS 


IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 


vol      a." 


LONDON : 
REMINGTON    &     CO.,     PUBLISHERS, 

HENRIETTA   STREET,   COVENT    GARDEN. 

1885. 
[AH  Rights  Reserved.'] 


•■■"1 


/ 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter  I.— The  Actors  of  the  Restoration. 


Chapter  II.— The  Actresses. 


Chapter  III.— The  Poets. 


Chapter  IV.— A  Couple  of  Courtiers. 


Chapter  V.--The  Prose  Writers, 


THE 


The  Civil  War. 

Suppression  op  the  Theatres. 

Davenant's  Musical  Enter- 
tainment. 

General  Monk. 

The  Eestoration. 

Revival  of  the  Stage. 

The  King's  Company. 

The  Duke's  Company. 

Description  of  the  Theatre 
of  the  Restoration. 

Anecdotes. 

The  Actors. 

Charles  Hart. 

Burt. 


James  Nokes. 

John  Lacy. 

William  Cartwright. 

Major  Mohun. 

"  Scum  "  Goodman. 

Harris. 

scudamore. 

Anthony  Leigh. 

Sandford. 

Smith. 

Cademan. 

Cave  XJnderhill. 

Joseph  Harris. 

Kynaston. 

Betterton. 


CHAPTEE  L 


the  actors  op  the  eestoration. 

The  Civil  War— Suppression  of  the  Theatees— 
Davenant's  Musical  Entertainment  —  General 
Monk— The  Eestoration— Revival  of  the  Stage 
—The  King's  Company— The  Duke's  Company  — 
Description  of  the  Theatre  of  the  Eestoration— 
Anecdotes— The  Actors— Charles  Hart— Burt- 
James    NoKES— John   Lacy— William    Cartwright 

Major     Mohun  —  "  Scum  "    Goodman— Harris— 

ScuDAMORE — Anthony  Leigh — Sandford— Smith — 
Cademan  —  Cave  Underhill  —  Joseph  Harris — 
Kynaston — Betterton. 

As  everybody  knows,  plays,  at  least  the  public  perform- 
ance of  tbem,  and  players,  so  far  as  tbe  law  could  touch 
them,  were  suppressed  by  the  Long  Parliament  in  1647.-^ 
Many  efforts  were  made  to  propitiate  the  authorities,  but 
all  in  vain ;  and  during  the  Commonwealth  period,  sock 
and  buskin  found  their  occupation  gone.  Some  private 
representations  were  given  at  rare  intervals— for  instance, 

♦The  ordinance  of  Buppression  described  "those  proud  parroting 
players"  as  "a  sort  of  superbious  ruffians;  and  because  sometimes  the 
asses  are  clothed  in  lions'  skins,  the  dolts  imagine  themselves  somebody, 
and  walk  in  as  great  state  as  Ciesar."  Some  of  the  actors  betook  them- 
selves to  the  wars,  mostly  on  the  King's  side.  Robinson,  a  player  of  merit, 
was  fated  to  encounter  the  fanatical  Harrison,  who,  when  he  asked  quarter, 
ran  his  sword  through  the  hapless  actor's  body,  crying,  "Cursed  be  he  who 
doeth  the  work  of  the  Lord  negligently  ! " . 

VOL.    II.  ^ 


4  THE   MEEBT  MONAECH  ; 

Cowley's  Comedy  of  "The    Guardian"  was  played  at 
Cambridge ;  but  to  the  general  public  the  theatre  door 
was  religiously  kept  shut*    A  bold  attempt  was  made  to 
re-open  the  Cockpit  in  1648,  but  on  the  fourth  day  a  troop 
of  soldiers  entered  it,  drove  out  the  audience,  destroyed 
the  stage  (in  a  frenzy  of  iconoclastic  enthusiasm) ,  and 
arrested  the  players,  who  were  marched  through   the 
streets    in   their   theatre   costume,  and    imprisoned   for 
awhile  in  the  Compter  and  the  Gatehouse.    This  severe 
example  was  accepted  as  a  warning  by  the  members  of 
the  despised  profession,  and  to  meet  the  exigencies  of  the 
situation  Richard  Cox  invented  a  new  kind  of  dramatic 
exhibition,  at  the  Red  Bull  playhouse,  in  which  rope- 
dancing  was  put  forward  as  the  piece  de  resistance,  to 
deceive  the  authorities,  while  the  taste  of  the  audience 
was   gratified  by  the  performance  of   what  were  called 
"  Humours,"  or  "  Drolleries  "—that  is,  a  combination  of 
the   richest   comic   scenes  from    Shakespeare,   Marston, 
Shirley,  and  others,  into  one  piece,  disguised  under  a 
new  title.     Thus:  "The  Equal  Match"   was   concocted 
from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  «  Rule  a  Wife  and  Have  a 
Wife ; "  «  The  Bouncing  Knight ;  or,  the  Robbers  Robbed," 
was  an  adaptation  of  the  Talstaff  scenes  from  the  second 
part  of  "  Henry  IV."    These  Drolleries  were  collected  by 
Marsh  in  1662,  and  reprinted  by  Kirkman  in  1672,  who,. 

in  his  preface,  says  :— 

« As  meanly  as  you  may  now  think  of  these  Drolls, 
they  were  then  acted  by  the  best  comedians ;  and  I  may 
say,  by  some  that  then  exceeded  all  now  living  ;  the  in- 

•  A  fine  of  59  was  inflicted  on  any  person  attending  iUeRal  performances  -. 

iXtl  at' the  doors  waa  to  be  confiscated  and  given  to  the  poor  of  the- 

™°?l^    »„rf  anf  DlaTer  caught  in  the  act  was,  the  first  time,  publ  c  y 

Thi^^iirand  aUSs. Tf  'e  offended,  to  be  treated  as  " an  incorng.bl^ 

rogue." 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  H. 


5 


comparable  Robert  Cox,  who  was  not  only  t^^e  F-pa 
actor,  but  also  the  contriver  and  author  of  most  of  these 
fa  cei  How  have  I  heard  him  cried  up  for  hts  John 
Swabber  and  Simpleton  the  Smith;  in  which  he  be.ng  o 
appear  with  a  large  piece  of  bread  and  butter  I  have 
frequently  known  several  of  the  female  spectators  and 
auditors  to  long  for  it ;  and  once  that  well-knowa  natural 
Jack  Adams  of  Clerkenwell,  seeing  htm  wtth  bread  and 
butter  on  the  stage,  and  knowing  him,  cried  out,    Cuz  . 

!  >    +^  +>iP    crreat   measure   oi    tne 
Cuz '    give   me   some !      to  the    great   pitr 

audience.  And  so  naturally  did  he  act  the  Sm.th  s  part 
that  being  at  a  fair  in  a  country  town,  and  that  farce 
le  „g  prelented,  the  only  master-smith  of  the  town  came 
to  him!  saying,  '  Well,  although  your  father  speaks  so  .11 
of  you  yet  when  the  fair  is  done,  if  you  will  come  and 
work  wiL  me,  I  will  give  you  twelve-pence  a  week  m^re 
than  I  give  any  other  journeyman.'  Thus  was  he  taken 
for  a  smith  bred,  that  was,  indeed,  as  much  of  any  t  ade 

The  fall  of  the  Long  Parliament,  by  which  they  had 
been  so  cruelly  persecuted,  was  grateful  enough  to  the 
payers,  and  we  may  fairly  assume  that  Alex-d-  Brome 
fpoke  their  feelings  in  the  verses  -^f ';-^^^''' ^^j^" 
fixed  to  the  collected  edition  of  Richard  Brome  s  Plays. 
The  players,  he  exclaims,  have  survived  the  Parliament  :- 

"See  the  strange  twirl  of  times!  when  such  poor  things 
Outlive  the  dates  of  parliaments  or  kings  I 
This  revolution  makes  exploded  wit 
Now  see  the  fall  of  those  that  ruined  it ; 
And  the  condemn^  stage  hath  now  obtamed 
To  see  her  executioners  arraigned. 
There's  nothing  permanent ;  those  h.gh  great  men 
That  rose  from  dust,  to  dust  may  fall  again ; 
And  fate  so  orders  things,  that  the  same  hour 
Sees  the  same  man  both  in  contempt  a°d  P"':"  ' 
For  the  multitude,  In  whom  the  power  doth  he, 
Do  in  one  breath  cry  Hail .'  and  Crua/y  . 


THE    MEREY   MONAECH  ; 


The  Government  could  suppress  the  public  theatres, 
but  they  could  not  suppress  the  taste  for  dramatic  repre- 
sentations, and  clandestine  performances  became  of  fre- 
quent occurrence  during  the  Protectorate.  In  Lord 
Hatton,  of  Scotland  Yard,  the  poor  actors  found  a 
kindly  patron ;  and  not  less  generous  was  the  Countess 
of  RoUand,  who  erected  a  private  stage  at  her  mansion, 
Holland  House,  Kensington.  It  was  necessary  that  these 
performances  should  take  place  with  the  greatest  precau- 
tions, and  we  are  told  that  William  Goffe,  "  the  woman- 
actor,"  was  employed  as  "  the  jackal  "  to  give  notice  of 
the  different  "fixtures,"  and  communicate  between  actors 
and  audience.  At  the  close  of  the  play  a  collection  was 
made  for  the  benefit  of  the  actors,  whose  share  was  care- 
fully proportioned  to  their  respective  merits. 

To   increase    their  funds  the   players  resorted  to   the 
practice  of  publishing  the  plays,  which  had  hitherto  been 
jealously  kept  in  manuscript,  and  in  one  year  no  fewer 
than  fifty  were  thus  given  to  the  public.     Many  of  these 
have  undoubtedly  perished,  for  though  the  titles  are  re- 
corded, the  plays   themselves  are  not  known.     And,  in 
1653,  John  Cotgrave  issued  a  remarkable  collection  ^'  of 
the  most  and   best   of    our   English  Dramatic  Poems'' 
under  the  title  of   "The  English  Treasury  of  Wit  and 
Language."       In  his   preface   he   complains   that   "the 
Dramatic  Poem  had  been  too  much  slighted ; "  and  he 
adds   that  some,  not  wanting  in  wit  themselves,  had, 
through   this   unfortunate  neglect,  "lost  the  benefit  of 
many  rich  and  useful  observations  ;  not  duly  considering, 
or  believing,  that  the  framers  of  them  were  the  most 
fluent  and  redundant  wits  that  this  age,  or  I  think  any 
other,  ever  knew." 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  ^ 

But  With  the  overthrow  of  -the  Eumps,"  and  the  en- 
trance   into   London  of  prudent  George  Monk  and  his 
egiments,  brighter  days  dawned  for  the  poor  p W - 
Bustlinc.   old  Ehodes,  who   had  been  prompter  at  the 
Z:VtL„   The*e,   »d    .fterw.rd.    ^'^  /"^"^ 
pamphlets  in  a  shop  at  Charing  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
Lp  in  Hyde  Park,  and  wheedled  out  of  the  General 
Zission  to  revive  the  drama  at  the  Cockpit,  m  Drury 
T"^'  annP    1660^      A   similar  license  was    granted  to 
':Zl:2o^Z  t.e  sa.e  ti.e  opened  the  Salis^ 
CoutTheatre.    That  Monk's  tastes  were  theatncaWe 
oZ  from  the  fact  that,  when  he  and  the  Council  of 
Stle  w  re  entertained  by  the  London  Guilds,  dramatic 
'       sentations  were  always  included  in  tl^e  Progra-e 
Jth  "  dancing  and  singing,  many  shapes  and  ghosts,  and 
;^e  like;    and   all  to   please  his   Excellency   the   Lord 

Tit  the  revi.al  of  the  drama  was  att-ded  J^; 
good  deal  of  irregular  competition  ;  but  in    662  the  King 
took  the   matter  in  hand,  and  settled  all   dispute    ^7 
•      •       ^n+Pnts  for  two  theatres   only— one  to  Thomas 
^rirtho  opened  in  Drury  Lane  at  the  head  of  the 
S^rc;:  an      Ind  the  other  to  Sir  William  Da.enant 
LM'buI  li  York's  company,  in  ^^^ ^ 
Elect  Street.    The  latter  afterwards  removed    o  the  old 
Tennis  Court  in  Portugal   Eow,   ^^^^^'^^J^ll 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.     In  1671,  after  the  ^-th J    ^ave^ 
nant  the  Duke's  comedians  betook  themselves  to  the  new 
m  Dorset  Gardens,  built  by  Sir  d^^stophe^  W-> 
and  decorated  by   Grinling  Gibbons        ^^^^^^'^^ 
Kinc^'s  Company,  burnt  out  of  Drury  Lane  m  1672,  touna 
Srt    Lincoln's   Inn   Fields  until  Wren    provided 


%  ^ 


6 


THE    MEEEY  MONAECH ; 


The  Government  could  suppress  the  public  theatres, 
but  they  could  not  suppress  the  taste  for  dramatic  repre- 
sentations, and  clandestine  performances  became  of  fre- 
quent occurrence  during  the  Protectorate.  In  Lord 
Hatton,  of  Scotland  Yard,  the  poor  actors  found  a 
kindly  patron ;  and  not  less  generous  was  the  Countess 
of  Holland,  who  erected  a  private  stage  at  her  mansion, 
Holland  House,  Kensington.  It  was  necessary  that  these 
performances  should  take  place  with  the  greatest  precau- 
tions, and  we  are  told  that  William  Goffe,  "  the  woman- 
actor,"  was  employed  as  *^  the  jackal  "  to  give  notice  of 
the  different  "fixtures,"  and  communicate  between  actors 
and  audience.  At  the  close  of  the  j)lay  a  collection  was 
made  for  the  benefit  of  the  actors,  whose  share  was  care- 
fully proportioned  to  their  respective  merits. 

To  increase  their  funds  the  players  resorted  to  the 
practice  of  publishing  the  plays,  which  had  hitherto  been 
jealously  kept  in  manuscript,  and  in  one  year  no  fewer 
than  fifty  were  thus  given  to  the  public.  Many  of  these 
have  undoubtedly  perished,  for  though  the  titles  are  re- 
corded, the  plays  themselves  are  not  known.  And,  in 
1653,  John  Cotgrave  issued  a  remarkable  collection  '^  of 
the  most  and  best  of  our  English  Dramatic  Poems  ^'* 
under  the  title  of  "The  English  Treasury  of  Wit  and 
Language."  In  his  preface  he  complains  that  "the 
Dramatic  Poem  had  been  too  much  slighted ; "  and  he 
adds  that  some,  not  wanting  in  wit  themselves,  had, 
through  this  unfortunate  neglect,  "lost  the  benefit  of 
many  rich  and  useful  observations  ;  not  duly  considering, 
or  believing,  that  the  framers  of  them  were  the  most 
fluent  and  redundant  wits  that  this  age,  or  I  think  any 
other,  ever  knew." 


7 

OE,   ENGLAND   TINDEE   CHAELES   II. 

But  with  the  overthrow  of  -the  Eumps,"  and  the  en- 
trance   into   London  of  prudent  George  Monk  and  his 
regiments,   brighter  days  dawned  for  the  poor  players. 
Bustling  old  Rhodes,  who  had  been  prompter  at  the 
Blackfriars    Theatre,    and    afterwards    sold    books    and 
pamphlets  in  a  shop  at  Charing  Cross,  hastened  to  the 
Lp  in  Hyde  Park,  and  wheedled  out  of  the  Genera 
permission  to  revive  the  drama  at  the  Cockpit,  m  Drury 
Lane  (June,  1660).     A   similar  license  was    granted  to 
Beeston,  who  about  the  same  time  opened  the  Salisbury 
Court  Theatre.     That  Monk's  tastes  were  theatrical  we 
opine  from  the  fact  that,  when  he  and  the  Council  of 
State  were  entertained  by  the  London  Guilds,  dramatic 
representations  were  always  included  in  the  programme 
^th  "  dancing  and  singing,  many  shapes  and  ghosts,  and 
the  like ;    and  all  to  please  his  Excellency   the  Lord 

General."  -i-i,  « 

At  first  the  revival  of  the  drama  was  attended  with  a 
good  deal  of  irregular  competition ;  but  in  1662  the  King 
took  the   matter   in  hand,  and  settled   all  disputes  by 
issuing  patents  for  two  theatres   only-one  to  Thomas 
Killi-rew,  who  opened  in  Drury  Lane  at  the  head  of  the 
KincT's  Company ;  and  the  other  to  Sir  William  Da.enant 
and'the  Duke  of  York's  Company,  in  Salisbury  Court 
Fleet  Street.    The  latter  afterwards  removed  to  the  old 
Tennis  Court  in  Portugal   Row,   on   the   south    side  ot 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.     In  1671,  after  the  death  of  Dave- 
nant,  the  Duke's  comedians  betook  themselves  to  the  new 
theatre  in  Dorset  Gardens,  built  by  Sir  Christopher  Wren, 
and  decorated  by   Grinling   Gibbons.       Meanwhile    the 
King's  Company,  burnt  out  of  Drury  Lane  in  1672,  found 
shelter    in    Lincoln's   Inn   Fields  until  Wren    provided 


8 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


them  with  a  new  house  in  1674.  Eight  years  later,  on 
Killigrew's  death,  the  two  companies  united,  and  started 
at  the  New  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  also  built  by  Wren,  on 
the  16th  of  November,  1682. 

Before  we  put  together  a  few  biographical  and  critical 
notes  respecting  the  Actors  and  Actresses  of  the  Restora- 
tion, we  must  say  a  word  or  two  in  description  of  the 
theatres  in  which,  and  of  the  audience  before  which,  they 
donned  the  sock  and  buskin.  The  usual  hour  of  per- 
formance, at  least  in  Charles  II.'s  early  years,  was  three 
in  the  afternoon.  The  house  was  lighted,  partly  by  the 
light  of  heaven,  which  the  open  roof— for  the  pit  was  not 
covered  over* — freely  admitted,  and  partly  by  flaring 
candles,  wliicli  were  trimmed  by  regular  "  snuffers."  Two 
rows  of  boxes  t  accommodated  the  King  and  his  cour- 
tiers, the  nobles,  and  the  wealthier  gentry  ;  but  the  com- 
pany in  the  pit  was  frequently  among  the  best,  and  thither 
resorted  the  wit  and  the  critic,  on  whose  fiat  the  fate  of 
play  and  players  depended.  Thither,  too,  went  the  gay 
gallants  of  the  period,  dividing  their  attention  between 
the  fair  actresses  on  the  stage  and  the  beauties  in  the 
boxes,  with  a  ready  glance  for  a  pretty  face  among  the 
orange  girls,  who  pushed  the  sale  of  their  costly  fruit. 
When,  in  February,  1668,  Sir  George  Etherege's  comedy, 
'« She  Would  if  She  Could,"  was  produced  at  the  Duke's 
House,  the  pit  was  crowded  with  a  brilliant  company,  in- 
cluding Buckingham,  and  Dorset,  and  Sedley,  which  in- 
continently condemned  the  play,  much  to  the  dissatisfac- 
tion of  its  author.      Our  wonder  that  ladies  could  attend 

•  Pepys  records,  on  one  occasion,  the  inconvenience  caused  by  a  storm  of 

hail. 

t  Tlie  prices  of  admission  to  the  boxes  seem  to  have  ranged  from  48.  to 
18d.  On  the  first  night  of  a  new  piece  the  prices  were  sometimes  doubled. 
(See  Pepys,  Dec.  16th,  1661.) 


OB,   ENGLAND  TINDER   CHARLES   II.  » 

f  o^  ^nrlpppnt   a   drama   is  not  much 
xt,p  r)erformance  of  so  indecent;  a, 

charmincr  faces  he  saw,  and  so  loTed  to  see,  we 
rruoTber  who  ..ade  even  this  slight  concession  to  de- 
corum  must  have  been  very  small. 

The  natronage  of  the  Court  was  extended  to  the  Sta.e 
The  patrona         ^  ^^^^^  ^^^^ 

T     •    ^  r«iioTlp«5'<4  reio'n  on  a  more  iiueiuji- 

during  Chailts  s  rei„i  ^^^^ 

Wore  or  since.     The   saturnine  King,  so  laise  y 
before  or  theatre,  almost  every 

"Thp  Merry  Monarch,    went  to  ine  uuc        , 

nin-ht,  to  escape  for  awnue  iio.u 

him  and  of  course  was  followed  by  everybody  who 
sumed  Inm,  and  01  CO  ^^^ 

breathed  the   atmosphere   of    the   Court. 
':  ditorium  "  must  often  have  presented  a  more  int^re^- 
ing,  and  certainly  a  more  entertaining  spectacehan  the 
.  A ,  f or  example,  on  the  20th  of  April,  1661 ,  when 

-^".^'^^ol^  saw  the  King,  and  the  DuUe  of 
YoIZ  his  recently-wedded  Duchess.  The  play  was 
Fletcher's  "  Humorous  Lieutenant,"  not  very  wel  a^ted ; 
but  Mr.  Pepys  found  great  pleasure  m  seeu^  s^  -ny 
,reat  beauties,  especially  Mrs.  Palmer  ^  due  t  m    to  ^ 

known  as  Lady  Oastiemaiuc  i  „i   ^4?  fomi- 

XI      -iz-   ^  riirl  rikcover  a  [?reat  deal  ot  tami- 
with  whom  the  King  did  discovei        g  ^^^^^.^^ 

liarity."     Again,  on  October  '^^^^''^Zln.e--"!  did 
of  Braganza  made  her  first  public   ^PP^^'^^!, 
go  thither,"  says  Pepys,  "  and  by  very  great  fo    une  d^d 
follow  four  or  five  gentlemen  who  were  carried  to  a  little 
loilow  rour  o  «       i,   „„,i   «„  erent  through  a  narrow 

private  door  in  the  wall,  and  so  crept 

^-t,       .<  tv-o  lorlipti  were  then  observed  to  be 
*  ..  I  remember,"  says  Colley  Cb^er    '  the  1«^;-^  ^^^     ^11  they  had  been 

decently  afraid  of  venturmg  '>"f -f*'^f  *'Ju*p:"  "odesty  ;  or  if  their  curiosity 
assured'tliey  might  do  it  without  insult  to  their  mo.l^  ^ 

were  too  strong  for  their  P='t'!f'''^fdav8  of  acting,  but  in  masks,  which 
ances,  and  rarely   came  -  the  first  days^^o*^  ^^  J,.^^  .^^^^^^  ,,  ^^^,,,, 

custom,  however,  had  so  many  m  t.u"     i 
abolished  these  many  years. 


10 


THE    MEERY   MOJ!f ARCH  ; 


place,  and  come  into  one  of  the  boxes  next  the  King's, 
but  so  as  I  could  not  see  the  King  or  Queen,  but  many  of 
the  fine  ladies,  who  yet  are  really  not  so  handsome  gener- 
ally as  I  used  to  take  them  to  be,  but  that  they  are  finely 
dressed.  There  we  saw  '  The  Cardinal '  [by  James  Shir- 
ley], a  tragedy  I  had  never  seen  before,  nor  is  there  any 
great  matter  in  it.  The  company  that  come  witli  me  into 
the  box  were  all  Frenchmen,  that  could  speak  no  English ; 
but  Lord  !  what  sport  they  made  to  ask  a  pretty  lady  that 
they  got  among  them,  that  understood  both  French  and 
English,  to  make  her  tell  them  what  the  actors  said." 

On  the  21st  of  November  Mr.  Pepys  took  his  wife  to 
the  Cockpit,  and  they  had  excellent  places,  and  saw  the 
King,  and  Queen,  and  the  boy-Duke  of  Monmouth,  and 
my  Lady  Castlemaine,  and  all  the  fine  ladies.  He  was 
there  again  on  the  1st  of  December — he  was  always 
making  vows  not  to  go  to  the  theatre  for  a  certain  period, 
and  always  breaking  these  vows — and  saw  acted  a  trans- 
lation of  Corneille's  "Cid  "— **  a  play,"  he  says,  "  I  have 
read  with  great  delight,  but  is  a  most  dull  thing  acted, 
which  I  never  understood  before,  there  being  no  pleasure 
in  it,  though  done  by  Betterton,  and  by  lanthe  [Mrs. 
Betterton],  and  by  another  fine  wench  [Mrs.  Norton] 
that  is  now  in  the  room  of  Roxalana  [Mrs.  Davenport]  ; 
nor  did  the  King  or  Queen  once  smile  all  the  whole  play, 
nor  any  of  the  whole  company  seem  to  take  any  pleasure, 
but  what  was  in  the  greatness  and  gallantry  of  the  com- 
pany." 

We  fear  our  dear  friend  Pepys  had  a  touch  of  snobbish- 
ness or  flunkeyism  in  his  character,  for  when  he  went  to 
the  Duke's  Theatre,  on  December  27th,  to  see  the  "  Siege 
of  Ehodes,"  he  expresses  himself  as  not  pleased  with  the 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  U. 


11 


audience:  the  house  was  "full  of  citizens-there  hardly 
Sw  Year's  Day,  1663  :  "  the  house  was  full  of  cxt.zens, 

the  chief  box,  radiant  in  a  velvet  gown,  winch  was  then 

"  the  fashion."  ^^ 

At  the  Cockpit,  on  the  5th,  the  Duke  ana 

4-  HTirl  hpfore  all  the  audience  "  did  show 
Vnrk  were  present,  and  oeiore  iin  tuc 
Yorkweiep  ,  ^^gthou-lit,  unnatural  dalliances, 

some  impertinent,  and  metnou^     ,  ^^ 

such  as  kissing  of  Ws,  and  leaning  upon  one  anc. be 
But  these  great  people  seldom  manifested  much  respect  for 
the  audience_or  for  themselves.     What  a  -ene  ^s  tha 
.hich  Pepys  sketches  for  us  as  l>-"f  ;;--^;;  f^^ 
Enc^'s  Theatre  one  day  in  January,  l^^*  =-'H°"  *^^ 
King,  coming  the  other  day  to  his  Theatre   to  see    The 
IndFan  Queen,'  my  Lady  Castlemaine  was  in  the  n^  bo^ 

r.A  Ipnnino-  over  other  ladies  awhile  to 
"hpfnrp  he  came ;  and  leaning  uvtii  kjvl 

Xer  with  the  King,  she  rose  out  of  the  hox  and  went 
:1  he  King's,  and  set  herself  on  the  ^^^^^fj^l^ 
hetween  the  King  and  the  Duke  of  York;  which  puUh 
Zing  himself,  as  well  as  everyhody  else,  ou    of  counte 
11  "-this  impertinent  feat  heing  intended  to  ^o  e  to 
the  world  that  she  had  not,  as  was  supposed,  lost  the  royal 

'T;;he  4th  of  October  Pepys  went  to  see  a  foolish  pl^y 
called  "The  General,"  and  happened  to  sit  near  to  S^r 
Charles  Sedley.  who  "  at  every  line  did  take  notic^^^e 
dulness  of  the  part  and  hadne3S  of  the  action,  and  that 

most  pertinently."  Cromwell's 

Another  time  he  sees  among  the  company  O 
daughter,  Mary,  with   her   husband,  Y.scount  Falcon 


12 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


bridge,  and  is  much  pleased  by  ber  gracious  looks  and 
modest  dress,  and  by  the  timidity  with  which  she  shrinks 
from  the  gaze  of  curious  spectators,  putting  on  her  vizard, 
and  keeping  it  on  all  the  play.  But  he  is  more  gratified, 
we  fancy,  by  the  sight  of  laughing  Nell  Gwynn,  who,  with 
her  fair  locks  and  bright  eyes,  shines  conspicuous  in  the 
front  of  the  house,  sometimes  filling  the  soul  of  Pepys 
with  exultation  by  condescending  to  chat  with  him,  and 
sometimes  moving  his  admiration  by  the  sharp  repartees 
she  fearlessly  exchanges  with  the  most  celebrated  wits  of 
the  time. 

On  the  5th  of  June,  1665,  he  attends  the  performance 
at  the  Duke's  Theatre  of  Lord  Orrery's  play  of  "  Mus- 
tapha ; "  but  "  all  the  pleasure  of  the  play  was  "  that  the 
King  and  Lady  Castleraaine  were  present,  "  and  pretty 
witty  Nell  Gwynn  and  the  younger  Marshall  sat  next  us ; 
which  pleased  me  mightily." 

There  is  a  curious  entry  in  the  Diary  for  December  21st, 
1668.  The  King  and  his  Court  went  to  see  "  Macbeth  " 
at  the  Duke's  Theatre,  and  Pepys  sat  just  under  them  and 
Lady  Castlemaine,  and  ''  close  to  a  woman  that  comes 
into  the  pit,  a  kind  of  a  loose  gossip  that  pretends  to  be 
like  her,  and  is  so,  something.  The  King  and  Duke  of 
York  minded  me,  and  smiled  upon  me,  at  the  handsome 
woman  near  me,  but  it  vexed  me  to  see  Moll  Davies,  in  a 
box  over  the  King's  and  my  Lady  Castlemaine's,  look 
down  upon  the  King,  and  he  up  to  her ;  and  so  did  my 
Lady  Castlemaine  once,  to  see  who  it  was  ;  but  when  she 
saw  Moll  Davies,  she  looked  like   fire,  which  troubled 


me. 


99 


We  have   remarked  that,   on  the  restoration  of  the 
Theatres,  their  performances  began  at  three  in  the  after- 


1^ 

OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 

noon  .  but  later  hours  came  afterwards  to  be  the  fashion. 
Pepy^  notes,  on  one  occasion,  that  the  play  was  not  over 
3  eleven,  and  that  he  walked  home  by    moonlight 
And  in  Evelyn's  correspondence,  when  complainin  g  of  the 
tduencyof  ^^  our  theatrical  pastimes  during  the  season 
of   Lent?'  when,  he   says,  there  are  more   wicked   and 
obscene  ^s  permitted  in  London  than  in  all  the  world 
*id.,;J«™rt,  ..th..  *.  ..dies  »d  tie  ^U^ 
come  recking  from  the  play  late  on  Saturday  mght  to  their 
Sunday  devotions ;   and  the   ideas  of  the  farce  possess 
their    fancies    to    the    infinite    prejudice    of    devotion, 
besides  the  advantages  it  gives  to  our  reproachful  bias- 

^irange  and  exciting  was  the  scene,  on  the  evening  of 
February  2nd,  1679,  at  the  Duke's  Theatre,  w^ere,  ^^^^^^^^ 
with  diamonds,  and  conspicuous  by  her  pau.ted  doll-h^^^^ 
beauty,  sat  Louise   de   Queronaille,  Duchess   of    Ports- 
„.outh.     Some  roisterers,  informed  of  her  P-ence  w^- 
seized  with  a  frenzy  of  morality,  and  with  ^-n  -  r^^^ 
and  fiaming  torches  made  their  way  into  the  P;^.  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
curses  upon  the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth  -^^  ^^^^^l'^ 
sons  of  honour.     A  general  n.eUe  ensued,  in  -^-^^^^^^^^ 
truders  hurled  their  firebrands  among  the  affrighted  actor, 
on  the  stage,  while  they  pricked  and  slashed  the  hmbs 
and  bodies  of  the  audience,  until  they  were  overpowered 
and  driven  out.     Instead  of  punishing  the  rioters  Charles 
punished  the  unoffending  actors,  and  closed  the  house 
during  the  royal  pleasure. 

Here  is  another  curious  incident,  recorded  by  Pepys  m 
1667--"  how  a  gentleman  of  good  habit,  sitting  just 
before  us,  cutting  of  some  fruit  in  the  mi^dst  of  the  play 
did  drop  down  as  dead  ;  but  with  much  ado.  Orange  Moll 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


15 


THE   ME  RET   MONARCH; 


did  thrust  lier  finger  adown  Ms  throat,  and  brought  him 
to  life  again." 

It  was  at  the  Duke's  Theatre  in  Dorset  Gardens,  on  an 
April  evening  in  1682,  that  Charles,  the  son  of  Sir  Edward 
Dering,  quarrelled  with  a  choleric  young  Welshman, 
named  Vaughan,  and  not  having  room  in  the  pit  to  fight 
it  out,  climbed  on  the  stage,  and  exchanged  thrust  and 
pass  before  the  excited  audience.  Dering  got  the  worst 
of  it,  and  was  carried  home,  bleeding  with  a  wound  in 
the  side ;  and  Vaughan  was  detained  a  prisoner  until  the 
authorities  were  satisfied  that  the  other  ofi'ender's  hurt 
was  not  mortal. 

The  fine  gentlemen  of  the  period  would  have  found 
time  hang  heavy  on  their  hands  but  for  the  hours  passed 
in  the  Theatre.  When  weary  of  displaying  themselves  in 
the  pit,  or  lounging  in  the  boxes  by  the  side  of  their 
lady-loves,  they  resorted  to  the  tiring-rooms  of  the  pretty 
actresses,  and  made  merry  with  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
toilette.  One  Saturday,  in  February,  1667,  a  certain  Sir 
Hugh  Myddelton  commented  with  such  rude  freedom  on 
the  dressing  processes  of  the  nymphs  of  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  that  Kebecca  Marshall  sharply  advised  him  to 
reserve  his  company  for  the  ladies  of  the  Duke's  House 
since  those  who  served  the  King  did  not  meet  with  his 
approbation.  In  reply  Sir  Hugh,  an  ill-conditioned  fellow, 
threatened  he  would  kick,  or  that  his  footman  should  kick 
her.  On  the  following  Monday  Mistress  Marshall  com- 
plained of  this  insult  to  the  King,  who,  however,  did  not 
at  once  take  notice  of  it.  As  she  left  the  theatre  on 
Tuesday  evening,  after  the  play.  Sir  Hugh  hung  about 
her,  and  at  last  whispered  something  to  a  ruffianly  re- 
tainer, who  thereupon  followed  her  closely,  and  pressed 


I 


.gainst  her  with  suet  violence  ^^^^'/^f'^f /^^*  ^'^ 
should  rob  or  stab  her,  she   screamed  for   help.    The 
wretch  for  a  minute  or  two  was  abashed ;  then   picking 
,p  some  mud  and  refuse  from  the  f  f -'/l  ^^f  ^^^^^ 
about  the  actress's  face  and  hair,  and  took  ^o  flight.    The 
next  day  she  lodged  a  second  complaint  with  the  King, 
who,   some  few  days  afterwards,  issued  a  decree,  pro- 
bibitinc^  gentlemen  from  entering  the  tiring-rooms  of  the 
ladies  o^f  the  King's  Theatre.      The  prohibition,  however, 
was  as  unwelcome  to  the  actresses  as  to  the  beaux,  and  in 
a  short  time  was,  by  mutual  consent,  ignored. 

Of  the  audiences  of  the  Restoration,  that  is,  of  those 
.udiences  so  far  as  they  were  composed  of  fine  ladies  and 
fine  gentlemen.  Monsieur  Henri  Taine  furnishes  an  elabo- 
rate picture.     "They  were   rich,"   he   says,  "they  had 
tried  to  deck  themselves  with  the  polish  of  Frenchmen  ; 
they   added   to  the  stage  moveable  decorations    music, 
lights,  probability,  comfort,  every  external  aid ;  but  they 
wanted  heart.    Imagine  these  foppish  and  half-mtoxicated 
nien,  who  saw  in  love  nothing  beyond  desire,  and  in  man 
aothing  beyond   sensuality ;    Rochester  in  the  place   of 
Mercutio.      What  part  of    his   soul  could  comprehend 
poesy  and  fancy  ?     The    comedy  of  romance  was   alto- 
Lther  beyond  his  reach;  he  could  only  seize  the  actual 
Lid,   and  of  this  world  but  the  palpable   and   gross 
externals.     Give  him  an  exact  picture  of  ordinary  life 
commonplace  and  probable  occurrences,  literal  imitations 
of  what  he  himself  was  and  did  ;  lay  the  scene  ^-  L°-don, 
in  the  current  year;  copy  his  coarse  words,  his  brutal 
iokes,  his  conversation  with  the  orange-girls,  his  rendez- 
vous in  the  Park,  his  attempts  at  French  dissertation. 
Let  him  recognize  himself,  let  him  find  again  the  people 


16 


THE   MEEET  MONARCH; 


OE,   ENGLAND   TJNDER   CHABLES  II. 


17 


and  the  manners  he  had  just  left  behind  him  in  the- 
tavern  or  the  ante-chamber;  let  the  theatre  and  the 
street  reproduce  one  another.  Comedy  will  give  him  the 
same  entertainment  as  real  life  ;  he  will  wallow  equally 
well  there  in  vulgarity  and  lewdness  ;  to  be  present  there 
will  demand  neither  imagination  nor  wit;  eyes  and 
memory  are  the  only  requisites.  This  exact  imitation 
will  amuse  him  and  instruct  him  at  the  same  time.  .  .  . 
The  author,  too,  will  take  care  to  amuse  him  by  his  plot, 
which  generally  has  the  deceiving  of  a  husband  or  a 
father  for  its  subject.  The  fine  gentlemen  agree  with  the 
author  in  siding  with  the  gallant ;  they  follow  his  for- 
tunes with  interest,  and  fancy  that  they  themselves  have 
the  same  success  with  the  fair.  Add  to  this,  women 
debauched,  and  willing  to  be  debauched  ;  and  it  is  mani- 
fest how  these  provocations,  these  manners  of  prosti- 
tutes, that  interchange  of  exchanges  and  surprises,  that 
carnival  of  rendezvous  and  suppers,  the  impudence  of  the 
scenes  only  stopping  short  of  physical  demonstration, 
these  songs  with  their  double  meaning,  that  coarse  slang 
shouted  loudly  and  replied  to  amidst  the  tableaux  vivants, 
all  that  stage  imitation  of  orgie,  must  have  stirred  up  the 
innermost  feelings  of  the  habitual  practisers  of  intrigue." 

From  the  audiences  we  return  to  the  actors. 

When  Killigrew  opened  the  King's  Theatre  his  com- 
pany included  Bateman,  Baxter,  Theophilus  Bird,  Blag- 
den,  Burt,  Cartwright,  Clem,  Duke,  Hancock,  Charles 
Hart,  Kynaston,  Lacy,  Mohun,  Robert  and  William  Shot- 
terel,  and  Wintersel.  He  afterwards  added  Beeston,  Bell, 
Charleton,  Goodman,  Griffin,  Haines,  Harris,  Hughes, 
Liddell,  Reeves,  and  Shirley.  The  ladies  were  Mrs. 
Corey,   Eastland,  Hughes,  Knipp,  Anne    and    Rebecca 


Marshall,  Rutter,  Uphill,  and  Weaver ;  while  at  different 
dates  engagements  were  made  with  Mrs.  BouteU,  Nel 
Gwynn,  James,  Reeves,  and  Verjuice.  The  members  of 
the  King's  Company  were  formally  sworn  in  at  the  Lord 
Chamberlain's  office  as  His  Majesty's  servants,  and  the 
ten  leading  actors  were  not  only  entered  on  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Royal  Household,  but  supplied  with  a  hand- 
Bome  uniform  of  scarlet  cloth  and  silver  lace. 

To  the   Duke's  Theatre   belonged  Betterton,  Dixon, 
LUlieston,  Lovell,  James  and  Robert  Nokes ;  and,  after- 
wards  Blagden,  Harris,  Medbourne,  Norris,  Price,  Rich- 
ards   and  Young.      The  ladies  were    Mrs.    Betterton, 
Davenport,  Davies,  Gibbs,  Holden,  Jennings,  and  Long. 
Some  degree  of  reputation  attaches  to  Charles  Hart, 
the  grandson  of    Shakespeare's  sister-not  to   be    con- 
founded with  that  other  Hart  who  served  as  a  maoor  in 
Prince  Rupert's   cavalry.      He    began    his    professional 
career  by  playing  women's  parts,  but  after  the  Restora- 
tion  asserted  his  histrionic  capacity  by  his  Alexander  the 
Great    (in   Lee's  play),  his   Cataline    (in    Ben  Jonson's 
tra-^edy),  and  his  Othello.    He  was  not  less  successful 
as  Manly  in  Wycherley's  "Plain  Dealer."    Rymer  refers 
to  him  and  Mohun  as  the  ^sopus  and  Roscius  of  their 
time.  His  handsome  presence  made  him  a  great  favourite 
with  the  ladies,  and  we  know  that  he  was  Nell  Gwynn's 
« Charles  the  First."     In  the  scandalous  chromcles  his 
name  is  also  associated  with  that  of  the  Duchess  of  Cleve- 
land.    Says  Pepys  (April  7th,  1668) :-«  Mrs.  Knipp  tells 
me  that  my  Lady  Castlemaine  is  mightily  in  love  with 
Hart  of  their  house  ;  and  he  is  much  with  her  m  private, 
and  she  goes  to  him  and  do  give  him  many  presents  ;  and 
that  the  thing  is  most  certain,  and  Beck  Marshall  only 


-VOL.    II. 

X '- 


1  g  THE   MEEEY   MONABCH  ; 

privy  to  it,  and  the  means  of  bringing  them  together : 
which  is  a  very  odd  thing,  and  by  this  means  she  is  even 
with  the  King's  love  to  Mrs.  Davis." 

The  salary  of  this  famous  actor  was  only  £3  a  week ; 
but  after  he  became  a  shareholder  in  the  theatre,  his 
share  of  the  profits  brought  his  annual  income  up  to 
£1,000.  He  quitted  the  stage  in  1682,  and  retired  to  his 
country  house  at  Great  Stanmore,  where  he  died  in  the 
foUowing  year,  and  was  buried  in  the  old  churchyard. 

To  Hart's  Cataline,  in  Ben  Jonson's  tragedy,  Burt 
played  Cicero.  He  was  a  good  actor  of  solid  parts, 
but  did  not  succeed  in   characters   of  much  force  and 

passion. 

James  Nokes,  the   son  of   a  vendor  of  toys,  played 
women's  parts  at  the  opening  of  his  brilliant  career,  and 
even  in  his  later  life  was  famous   as   "the   Nurse "   m 
Otway's  perversion  of  -Eomeo  and  Juliet,"  and  Payne's 
"  Fatal  Jealousy."     As  a  comedian  few  of  his  contem- 
poraries  equalled,  none  surpassed  him :  in  the  unctuous- 
ness  of  his  subtle  humour  he  seems  to  have  resembled 
Munden.     He  studied  character  with  a  keenly  observant 
eye,  and  reproduced  every  detail  with  wonderful  truth  to 
nature.     Both  Court  and  city  delighted  in  him.    Charles 
II    it  is  said,  first  recognized  his  ability  when  he  was 
playing  Norfolk  in  "Henry  VIIL,"  and  distinguished 
him  to  the  last  with  his  royal  favour.     In  May,  1670, 
when  the  King  and  his  Court  went  to  Dover  to  meet  the 
Queen-mother,  Henrietta  Maria,  he  was  accompanied  by 
the  Duke  of  York's  comedians,  who  performed  before  the 
briUiant  audience  the  play  of  "  Sir  Solomon,'^  founded  on 
Moliere's    "  L'Ecole  des  Femmes."    Nokes  played    Sir 
Arthur  Addel,  which  he  dressed  in  close  imitation  of  the 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


19 


costume  of  the  French  gentlemen  in  the  Queen-mother's 
train.  To  render  his  equipment  the  more  exact  the  Duke 
of  Monmouth  took  off  his  own  sword  and  belt,  and 
buckled  them  to  the  actor's  side.  His  caricature  of  the 
airs  and  graces  of  the  Frenchmen  was  as  perfect  as  his 
imitation  of  their  dress,  and  convulsed  the  King  and  his 
courtiers  with  laughter— a  curious  compliment  for  a  host 
to  pay  his  guests.  The  Duke's  sword  and  belt  Nokes 
treasured  as  souvenirs  until  his  death  in  1692.^ 
Colley  Cibber  says  of  him  :— 

"  He  scarce  ever  made  his  first  entrance  in  a  play  but 
he  was  received  with  an  involuntary  applause;    not  of 
hands  only,  for  these  may  be,  and  have  often  been,  par- 
tially prostituted  and  bespoken,  but  by  a  general  laughter, 
which  the  very  sight  of  him  provoked,  and  nature  could 
not  resist ;  yet  the  louder  the  laugh  the  graver  was  his 
look  upon  it ;  and  sure  the  ridiculous  solemnity  of  his 
features  were  enough  to  have  set  a  whole  bench  of  bishops 
into  a  titter,  could  he  have  been  honoured  (may  it  be  no 
offence  to  suppose  it)  with  such  grave  and  right  reverend 
auditors.     In  the  ludicrous  distresses  which,  by  the  laws 
of  comedy,  folly  is  often  involved  in,  he  sunk  into  such  a 
mixture  of  piteous  pusillanimity,  and  a  consternation  so 
ruefully  ridiculous  and  inconsolable,  that  when  he  had 
shook  you  to  a   fatigue  of  laughter,  it  became  a  moot 
point  whether  you  ought  not  to  have  pitied  him.     When 
he  debated  any  matter  by  himself,  he  would  shut  up  his 
mouth  with  a  dumb,  studious  front,  and  roll  his  full  eye 
into  such  a  vacant  amazement,  such  a  palpable  ignorance 
of  what  to  think  of  it,  that  this  silent  perplexity  (which 
would   sometimes  hold  him  several  minutes)   gave  your 

*  This  story  is  told  by  Downes,  in  his  "  Roscius  Anglicanus." 


20 


THE  MEEET  MONAECH  ; 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDEE  CHABLES  II. 


21 


imagination  as  fuU  content  as  the  most  absurd  thing  he 

could  say  upon  it." 

Another  of  the  popular  actors  of  the  Eestoration  was 
the  comedian,  John  Lacy.    He  was  held  in  such  esteem  by 
Charles  U.  that  he  took  from  the  best  players  the  parts 
to  which  they  had  a  prescriptive  right  by  the  laws  of  the 
stage  and  gave  them  to  his  favourite.    A  first-rate  «  all 
round"  actor.  Lacy  was  not  less  admirable  as  Shakes- 
peare's Falstaff  than  as  the  Irishman  Teague  in  Howard's 
farcical  comedy  of  "The  Committee."*    AU  parts  came 
alike  to  him,  but  for  the  beaux  and  lovers  of  comedy  he 
was  specially  fitted  by  his  handsome  person  and  graceful 
address.    He  had  been,  in  early  Ufe,  a  dancing-master 
and  a  soldier ;    and  his  experience  in  these  capacities 
proved  very  useful  to  him  on  the  boards.    His  position 
with  the  pubUc  and  the  King  gave  Hm  so  much   con- 
fidence that  he  gave  peculiar  point  in  the  dialogue  he  de- 
Uvered  to  any  satire  which  hit  the  vices  and  follies  of  the 
Court,  and  he  seems  to  have  interpolated  sarcasms  of  his 
own.     la  Howard's  «  Sileat  Woman  "  he  indulged  his  wit 
to  such  an  extent  that  even  the  King  was  offended,  and 
ordered  the  daring  actor  to  be  confined  in  the  porter's 
lodge.     On  his  release,  a  few  days  afterwards,  Howard 
offered  him  his  congratulations,  which  Lacy  took  very  ill, 
declaring  that  the  speeches  put  by  the  dramatist  into  the 
mouth  of  «  Captain  Otter  "  had  wrought  all  the  trouble, 
and    pronouncing    him    more    a   fool   than   a  poet;  an 
epigrammatic  way   of  telling   the  truth    which   goaded 
Howard  into  striking  the  truth-teller  with  his  glove  in 

•  T  an^hftine  SDeaks  of  him  as  "  a  Comedian  whose  ahilities  in  action  were 
™L^enUv  known  to  all  that  frequented  the  King's  Theatre,  where  he  wa^ 
Buacientiy  known  w  nprfnraied  all  parts  that  he  undertook  to  a 

SlrS^  (n^"m:c"h  'thaTi  rnfa^rto^t:,  th\t.as  this  age_never  had,  so 
Se  next  will  never  have  his  Equal,  at  least  not  h,s  Supenor." 


4 


the  face.  Lacy,  in  return,  gave  the  aristocratic  dramatist 
a  blow  with  his  ca^e.  Howard  immediately  carried  his 
complaint  to  the  King,  who  ordered  the  theatre  to  be 
closed,  and  thus  made  all  the  company  snfEer  for  the  rash- 
ness of  one  of  their  number. 

In  1671  Lacy  played  "  Bayes  "  in  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham's "  Eehearsal,"  and  introduced  a  startling  and  not 
altogether  happy  innovation  by  mimicking  to  the  life  the 
poetDryden.  The  portrait  was  exact  in  every  detail,  but 
its  cruelty  was  proportionate  to  its  cleverness.  Bucking- 
ham, it  is  said,  took  considerable  pains  in  teaching  Lacy. 

Lacy  died  in  1681.  Three  years  later  his  posthumous 
comedy,  "  Sir  Hercules  Buffoon  ;  or,  The  Poetical  Squire,^' 
was  brought  out  at  Drury  Lane,  with  a  prologue  by  Tom 
D'Urfey.  ^  It  did  not  hold  the  stage,  and  has  long  been 
forgotten.  There  is  a  triple  portrait  of  Lacy  (executed  by 
Wright,  by  command  of  Charles  II.)  at  Hampton  Court, 
representing  him  as  Teague  in  "The  Committee,''^  Mr. 
Seinple   in   "The    Cheats,''    and  M.    Galliard  in   "The 

Variety." 

The  visitor  to  Dulwich  College  will  remember  the  por- 
trait of  William  Cartwright,  the  second  of  the  great  bene- 
factors  of  that  noble  institution.  At  his  death  he 
bequeathed  to  it  his  collection  of  pictures  and  his  library. 
Before  he  entered  the  dramatic  profession  he  had  been  a 
bookseller  in  Holborn,  and  in  that  capacity  had  acquired 
a  knowledge  of  books,  which  explains  the  valuable  cha- 
racter of  his  library.  As  an  actor,  he  gained  no  sraaU 
reputation,  and  was  particularly  esteemed  for  his  Fal- 
staff. 

*  Lacy  also  wrote  "  The  Dumb  Lady  ;  or,  The  Farrier  made  Physician," 
1672 ;  "Old  Troop ;  or,  Monsieur  Ragon,"  1672  ;  and  «  Sawny  the  Scot ; 
or,  The  Taming  of  a  Shrew,"  1677. 


22 


THE  MEEET  MONAECH  J 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


23 


Of  another  of  the  Restoration  actors  the  portrait  will 
be  found  at  that  famous  seat  of  the  Saekvilles,  Knowle. 
Major  Mohun,  who  in  his  time  played  many  parts— an 
actor  in  the  peaceful  days  of  Charles  I,  then,  during  the 
Civil  War,  a  gallant  soldier  on  the  King's  side,  and  after 
the  Restoration  an  actor  again,  and  a  very  good  one— was 
always  a  welcome  guest  at  the  table  of  the  lord  of  Knowle, 
the  genial  Buckhurst.     He  excelled  in  sach  parts  as  Clitus 
and  Cassius,  but  played  the  modern  rakes,  the  Dapperwits 
and  Pinchwifes  of  the  new  comedy,  with  an  airy  grace  and 
vivacity  which  none  of  his  imitators  could  approach.     Off 
the  stage  he  was  as  lovable  as  on  it  he  was  inimitable. 
When  Nathaniel  Lee  read  to  him  the  part  he  was  to  create 
in  one  of  his  swelling  dramas,  Mohun  said,  with  charming 
address,  "Unless  I  could  play  the  character  as  beautifully 
as  you  read  it,  'twere  vain  to  try  it  at  all." 

As   a  striking  contrast  to  this   gracious  and   gallant 
soldier-player,  we  put  forward  Cardell  Goodman,  whose 
unwholesome  reputation  is  summed  up  in  the  expressive 
epithet  generally  attached  to  his  name,  "Scum"  Good- 
man.    His  theatrical  career  extended  over  only  twelve 
years,  from  1677  to  1690.     Having  been  expelled  from 
Cambridge  University  for   defacing  the   portrait  of  its 
Chancellor,  the  Duke  of  Monmouth,  he  took  to  the  stage 
as  a  means  of  livelihood,  and  made  his  first  appearance  as 
Polyperchon  in  Nat  Lee's  «  Rival  Queens."     He  found  a 
friend  and  associate  in  the  actor  Grif^n,  and  the  two  poor 
players  shared  together  their  garret,  their  bed,  and  their 
shirt.     It  is  related  of  Goodman   that,  forgetful  (as  he 
always  was)  of  every  rule  of  honesty  and  fairness,  he  wore 
the  shirt  one  day  when  it  was  Griffin's  turn  to  wear  it, 
because  he  was  fain  to  visit  some  frail  nymph  of  his  ac- 


quaintance.   To  eke  out  his  scanty  funds  he  borrowed 
horse  and  pistol,  and  played  on  the  road  the  part  of  a 
highwayman  ;  but  he  was  arrested  and  thrown  into  New- 
gate, and  escaped  the  gallows  only  through  the  favour  of 
James  IL    His  good  looks  and  dashing  ways  soon  after- 
wards secured  him  the  favour  of  the  Duchess  of  Cleve- 
land.     "  This  woman,"  says  Oldmixon,  «  was  so  infamous 
in  her  amours,  that  she  made  no  scruple  of  owning  her 
lovers ;  among  whom  was  Goodman  the  player  ...  and 
the  fellow  was  so  insolent  upon  it,  that  one  night,  when 
the  Queen  was  at  the  theatre,  and  the  curtain,  as  usual, 
was  immediately  ordered  to  be  drawn  up,  Goodman  cried, 
as  my  Duchess  come  ? '  and  being  answered,  no,  he  swore 
^       terribly   the    curtain  should  not  be   drawn  up    till  the 
Duchess  came,  which  was  at  the  instant,  and  saved  the 

affront  to  the  Queen." 
\  Scum    Goodman,    however,    was    a    villain   at  heart. 

Annoyed  at  the  presence  of  a  couple  of  the   Duchess's 
children,  and  fearing,  perhaps,  that  their  portions  would 
lessen  his  gains,  he  bribed  an  Italian  quack  to  poison 
them.    But  the   plot  was   discovered,  and  Scum  for  a 
second  time  became  an  inmate  of  Newgate.     He  was  tried 
for  a  misdemeanour ;  had  influence  enough  to  save  his 
worthless  neck,  but  was  compelled  to  pay  so  heavy  a  fine 
that  it  reduced  him  to  poverty.     He  left  the  stage  in  1 690. 
Colley   Cibber   says  that  when  he,  a  debutant,  was  re- 
hearsing the    small    part  of  the   Chaplain   in    Otway's 
"Orphan,"  Scam  Goodman  was  so  pleased  that  he  swore 
with  a  big  oath  the  young  fellow  had  in  him  the  making 

of  a  good  actor. 

Goodman,  as  became  a  man  whose  life  had  been  saved 
by  King  James,  was  an  ardent  Jacobite,  and  joined  in 


24 


THE  MEEET  MONAECH  ; 


Tenwick  and  Churnock's  desperate  scheme  to  assassinate 
William  III.  He  had  already  distinguished  himself  as  one 
of  the  first  forgers  of  hank-notes ;  nothing,  indeed,  was  too 
vile  for  him  to  engage  in.  While  the  details  of  the  plot 
were  being  arranged,  Goodman,  Porter,  Parkjns,  and 
other  confederates,  endeavoured  to  raise  a  riot  in  London 
(June  10,  1695).  They  met  at  a  tavern  in  Drurj  Lane, 
and,  when  hot  with  wine,  rushed  into  the  streets,  beat 
kettledrums,  unfurled  banners,  and  began  to  light  bonfires. 
But  the  watch,  supported  by  the  populace,  soon  over- 
powered the  revellers,  whose  ringleaders  were  apprehended, 
tried,  fined,  and  imprisoned.  They  regained  their  liberty 
after  a  few  weeks,  and  resumed  their  more  criminal  design. 
It  was  discovered,  however,  and  Goodman  was  then  ready 
to  turn  informer.  To  save  Fenwick's  life,  his  friends  were 
anxious  to  get  out  of  the  way  this  all-important  witness, 
and  to  buy  him  off  they  employed  the  agency  of  a  daring 
Jacobite  adventurer,  named  O'Brien.  "  This  man,"  says 
Macaulay,  "knew  Goodman  well.  Indeed,  they  had  be- 
longed to  the  same  gang  of  highwaymen.  They  met  at 
the  Dog  in  Drury  Lane,  a  tavern  which  was  frequented  by 
lawless  and  desperate  men.  O'Brien  was  accompanied  by 
another  Jacobite  of  determined  character.  A  single  choice 
was  offered  to  Goodman,  to  abscond  and  to  be  rewarded 
with  an  annuity  of  five  hundred  a  year,  or  to  have  his 
throat  cut  on  the  spot.  He  consented,  half  from  cupidity, 
half  from  fear.  O'Brien  was  not  a  man  to  be  tricked. 
He  never  parted  company  with  Goodman  from  the  moment 
when  the  bargain  was  struck  till  they  were  at  Saint  Ger- 

mains." 

What  became  of  Goodman  is  not  known.     Probably  he 
perished  in  a  street  brawl  at  the  hands  of  rogues  of  more 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 

nerve  than  he  had,  for  the  man  was  always  a  coward  as 

well  as  a  knave. 

One  of  the  most  popular  of  the  Duke'3  Company  was 
Harris,    whose    portrait    in  his   favourite  character  of 
Cardinal  Wolsey  was  painted  by  Hailes,  and  xs  preserved 
in  the  Pepysian  Library  at  Cambridge.    He  was  a  man  of 
versatile  talents,  a  fine  singer  and  dancer,  and  a  good 
talker,  who  commanded  respect  even  from  the  wxtty  and 
learned  company  that  gathered  round  Dryden  at  Wxll  s 
Coffee-House.     He  was  on  intimate  terms  with  Pepys : 
"I  do  find  him,"   says  Pepys,  «a  very  excellent  person, 
such  as  in  my  whole  acquaintance  I  do  not  know  another 
better  qualified  for  converse,  whether  in  things  of  his  own 
trade,  or  of  other  kind ;  a  man  of  great  understanding 
and  observation,  and  very  agreeable  in  the  manner  of  his 
discourse,  and  civil,  as  far  as  is  possible." 

Then  there  was  Scudamore,  who  took  what  is  now  called 
we  believe,  the  "juvenile  lead,"  and  played  the  lover,  and 
the  fine  gentleman,  and  the  chivalrous  knight  with  a  grace 
and  spirit  that  charmed  all  beholders.  He  «  created  the 
part  of  Garcia  in  Congreve's  "  Mourning  Bride.  In  170a 
he  married  a  young  lady  of  £4,000  fortune,  who  had  fallen 
in  love  with  the  gay  and  gallant  actor,  though  he  was 
then  wearing  old  age  and  grey  hairs. 

Eeference  must  also  be  made  to  Anthony  Leigh,  whose 
portrait  is  one  of  those  at  Knowle,  hung  there  by  the  great 
patron  of  art  and  letters,  the  first  Earl  of  Dorset.  Cibber 
speaks  of  Dominique  in  Dryden's  "  Spanish  Friar"  as  his 
best  part,  and  it  is  in  this  part  the  artist  has  painted  him. 
« In  the  courting,  grave  hypocrisy  of  the  Spanish  Fnar 
Leigh  stretched  the  veil  of  piety  so  thinly  over  him,  that 
in  every  look,  word,  and  motion,  you  saw  a  palpable, 


26 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


wicked  shyness  shine  throngliout  it.  Here  lie  kept  his: 
vivacity  demurely  confined,  till  the  pretended  dnty  of  his 
function  demanded  it;  and  then  he  exerted  it  with  a 
choleric,  sacerdotal  insolence.  I  have  never  yet  seen  any- 
one that  has  filled  the  scenes  with  half  the  truth  and  spirit 
of  Leigh.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that  the  poet's  knowledge 
of  Leigh's  genius  helped  him  to  many  a  pleasant  stroke  of 
nature,  which,  without  that  knowledge,  never  might  have^ 
entered  into  his  conception."  Leigh  was  on  the  stage 
from  1672  to  1692. 

One  of  his  fellow-actors  was  the  celebrated  Smith,  the 
original  of  Sir  Topling  Flutter  (1676),  Pierre  (1682), 
Chamont  (1680),  and  Scandal  (1695),  of  whom  an  in- 
teresting  anecdote  is  told  by  Gibber.  '^Mr.  Smith,"  he 
says,  "  whose  character  as  a  gentleman  could  have  been 
no  way  impeached,  had  he  not  degraded  it  by  being  a 
celebrated  actor,  had  the  misfortune,  in  a  dispute  with  a 
gentleman  behind  the  scenes,  to  receive  a  blow  from  him. 
The  same  night  an  account  of  this  action  was  carried  to 
the  King,  to  whom  the  gentleman  was  represented  so 
grossly  in  the  wrong,  that  the  next  day  his  Majesty  sent 
to  forbid  him  the  court  upon  it.  This  indignity  cast  upon 
a  crentleman  only  for  maltreating  a  player,  was  looked  upon 
as  the  concern  of  every  gentleman,  and  a  party  was  soon 
found  to  assert  and  vindicate  their  honour,  by  humbling 
this  favoured  actor,  whose  slight  injury  had  been  judged 
equal  to  so  severe  a  notice.  Accordingly,  the  next  time 
Smith  acted,  he  was  received  with  a  chorus  of  cat-calls, 
that  soon  convinced  him  he  should  not  be  suffered  to  pro- 
ceed in  his  part ;  upon  which,  without  the  least  discom- 
posure, he  ordered  the  curtain  to  be  dropped,  and  having 
a  competent  fortune  of  his  own,  thought  the  conditions  of 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


27 


adding  to  it  by  remaining  on  the  stage,  were  too  dear, 
and  fr^om  that  day  entirely  quitted  it." 

He  returned  to  it,  however,  in  1695 ;  not  to  meet  with 
Hs  old  favour,  for  the  Whig  portion  of  his  audiences 
resented  his  well-known  Tory  sympathies.     He  died  xn  the 

following  year. 

Sandford  made  Ms  first  appearance  on   the  stage  in 
1661,  two  years  before  his  colleague  Santh,  and  remained 
o„  it  two  years  after  his  colleague's  death,  that  ^s    untd 
1698     It  was  his  peculiar  fortune  to  play  the  viUain- 
the  villain  of  comedy  as   well  as   of  tragedy ;    and  the 
audiences  were  so  accustomed  tohi.n  in  ^^^^l^'^^^'Tl 
when  he  was  cast  for  an  honest  man,  they  showed  their 
annoyance  hy  hissing  the  piece  in  which  he  was,  to  then- 
fancy,  so  strangely  out  of  place.     He  was  very  great  in 
nielodramatic  characters,  and  in  all  was  famous  for  his 
admirable  delivery.    The    verses  of  the  poet  gamed  an 
additional  attraction  from  the  intelligence  and  spirit  with 

which  he  rendered  them. 

In  Hampstead  churchyard,  though  without  monumental 
record,  lies  Jevon,  who,  like  Lacy,  began  his  career  as  a 
r^aitre  de  danse.     He  was  a  fellow  of   infinite  fun  and 
fancy,  who,   in    one    of    Settle's    bombastic    tragedies, 
having,  according    to   the   stage    direction,  "to  fdl  on 
his  sword,"  placed  it  flat  on  the  stage,  deliberately  fell 
over  it,  and  duly  «  died."     At  the  coffee-house  an  angry 
waiter  exclaimed,  "  Tou  are  wiping  your  dirty  boots  with 

1  1  ^r.  1  »    "  Never  mind,  boy,"  retorted  Jevon, 

my  clean  napkin !  JNever  uim  ,      jj  r  utt,^ 

« I'm  not  proud-'twiU  do  for  me."  The  farce  of  The 
Devil  to  Pay  »  is  based  upon  his  little  play,  "  A  Devil  ot 
a  Wife,"  in  which  he  himself  acted  Jobson. 

Cademan,  like  Cartwright,  had  been  a  bookseller,  and 


28 


THE   MERRY  MONARCH; 


when  driven  from  the  stage  by  an  accident — Harris,  in  a 
fencing-scene,  wounded  him  in  the  eye,  and  the  wound 
brought  on   paralysis   of    the  tongue— returned  to  his 

original  calling. 

Cave  Underbill  was   one  of  the  earliest  accessions  to 
Davenant's  company.     Few  actors  have  surpassed  him  in 
length  of  service ;   he   was   on   the  stage  from  1661  to 
1710  ;  and  none,  perhaps,  in  the  exquisite  art  with  which, 
like  our  own  Compton,  he  represented  the  dry  and  stolid 
wit,  the  malicious  dunderhead,  the  uxorious  old  dotard, 
or  the  sourly  humorous  rustic.     His  "  Don  Quixote  "  was 
good;  his  "Sir  Sampson  Legard  "  (in  Congreve's  "Love 
for  Love  ")  better  ;  and  his  "  Grave-digger,'^  in  Hamlet 
best.     There  is  a  kindly  notice  of  him  in  Steele's  Tatler, 
1709,  in  which  he  is  commended  for  the  naturalness  and 
modesty  of  his  acting,  and  for  the  fidelity  with  which  he 
adhered  to  the  words  of  his  author. 

In  both  these  respects  Joseph  Haines— or  Joe  Haines, 
as  his  friends  called  him— sinned  largely.    He  "  gagged  " 
as  the  whim  seized  him ;  and  played  always  to  the  au- 
dience instead  of  to  his  fellow-players.     A  man  of  ready 
wit  and  easy  address,  he  is  the  hero  of  more  than  one 
good  story.     Arrested  on   Holborn  Hill  by  a  couple  of 
bailifPs  for  a  debt  of  £20,  he  turned  to  them  with  a  bow 
and  a  smile.    "  Here  comes  the  carriage  of  my  cousin,  the 
Bishop  of  Ely ;  let  me  speak  to  him,  and  I  am  sure  he 
will  satisfy  you  iu  this  matter.'^      Thrusting  his  head  in 
at  the  carriage-door,  he  whispered  to  good  Bishop  Patrick 
that  the  two  men  in  waiting  were  Eomanists,  who  inclined 
to  become  Protestants,  but  had  still  some  scruples  of  con- 
science. 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  Bishop,  "  if  you  will  presently, 


OB,   ENGLAND   TJNDEB   CHARLES   II.  2^ 

come  to  my  house,  I  will  satisfy  you  in  this  matter."  The 
Zms  duly  waited  upon  him;  an  explanation  soon  en- 
Id;  and  the  Bishop,  partly,  I  think,  out  o  pure  benevo- 
lence, and  partly,  perhaps,  from  a  feeling  of  shame,  paid 

Clergyman  into  accepting  a  situation  as  '^  Chaplain  to  the 
KinJs  Theatre,"  and  sent  him  behind  the  scenes, 
ringing  a  beU,  and  calling   the  actors  and  actresses  to 

^T'the  course  of  an  excited  discussion  on  Jeremy 
Pollier's  "  Short  View  of  the  Profaneness  and  Immorality 
of  the  English  Stage,'^  a  critic  remarked  that  the  attack 
was  unfair,  inasmuch  as  the  stage  was  a  mender  of 
morals.  "True,"  said  Haines;  '«but  so  is  CoUier  a 
mender  of  morals,  and  two  of  a  trade,  you  know,  never 

Tailes  was  once  cast  by  Charles  Hart  for  the  part  of  a 
Senator  in  Ben  Jonson's  "  Cataline,"  Hart  himself  taking 
the  title-role.  Disgusted  with  the  character  Haxnes  de- 
liberately marred  Hart's  best  scene  by  taking  a  seat 
behind  him,  in  a  grotesque  costume  ;  and,  with  pot  and 
pipe  in  hand,  grimacing  at  Cataline  until  the  audience 
were  convulsed  with  laughter.  Por  this  escapade  he  was 
rightly  punished  by  dismissal. 

Early  in  James  IL's  reign,  Haines,  to  secure  the  Court 
favour,  announced  to  Lord  Sunderland  his  conversion  to 
Eomanism,  and  explained  that  he  had  been  led  to  it^  by  a 
vision  of  the  Virgin,  who  had  said  to  him,  '^  Joe  arise . 
Por  once  he  met  his  match.  The  Earl  did  not  believe  in 
his  would-be  convert,  and  remarked  that  Jbe  ^irgin, 
she  had  appeared,  "  would  have  said  '  Joseph,  if  only  out 


80  THE   MEKBT  MONARCH; 

Of  respect  for  her  husband ! »     Haines    completed    the 
farce  by  recanting  his  pretended  conversion  on  the  stage  ! 
Holding  a  taper,  and  wearing  the  penitential  white  sheet, 
he  recited  some  a  propos  couplets  with  an  effectiveness  of 
delivery  which  deceived  his  hearers  into  thinking  they 

were  witty. 

The  date  and  place  of  Haines's  birth  are  uncertam ; 
but  he  was  educated  at  a  school  in  St.  Martin's-in-the- 
Fields,  whence,  at  the  cost  of  some  gentlemen  who  had 
admired  his  precocious  talents,  he  was  sent  to  Queen  s 
College,   Oxford.      There    he    became    acquainted    with 
WilHamson,  afterwards  famous  as  Sir  Joseph,  the  veteran 
diplomatist  and  Minister  of  State,  who   continued   his 
friendship  when  they  had  both  left  college,  and  appointed 
him  his  Latin  Secretary  on  his  accession  to  cabinet  ofiace. 
Haines,  however,  could  not  keep  a  secret,  and  the  revela- 
tions he  made  to  his  boon  companions  rendered  his  dis- 
missal unavoidable.     Sir  Joseph  sent  him  back  to  make 
use  of  his  scholarship  at  Cambridge ;  but  falling  m  with 
a  company  of  strolling  players  at  Stonrbridge  Fair,  he 
was  fascinated  by  the  stir  and  variety  of  the  theatrical 
life,  and  after  a  brief   experience  "  in  the  provinces," 
flashed  forth  upon  Drury  Lane  stage  to  become  the  de- 

lio-M  of  the  tovm. 

\mong  his  best  parts  were  Sparkish  in  "  The  Country 
Wife  "  Eoger  in  "Esop,"  Tom  Corand  in  «  The  Constant 
Couple,"  Lord  Plausible  in  "The  Plain  Dealer,"  and 
Captain  Bluff  in  "  The  Old  Bachelor."  But  in  no  part 
which  he  played  did  he  ever  fall  below  himself ;  that  is, 
never  was  he  otherwise  than  airy,  sparkling,  self-pre- 
served, and  inimitable.  He  was  the  Charles  Matthews  of 
the  stage  of  the  Restoration. 


OB,    ENGLAND    TINDEE   CHAELES    II. 


31 


His  theatrical  career  began  in  1672  and  ended  in  1701, 
in  which  year  (on  the  4th  of  April)  he  died  at  his  own 
house  in  Hart  Street,  Covent  Garden. 

Before  the  French  custom  of  giving  female  parts  to 
women  was  adopted  on  the  English  stage,  one  of  the  most 
Booular  representatives  of  female  character  was  Edward 
Kynaston,  who  so  excelled  in  this  difficult  role  that  Downes 
thinks  it   "  disputable "  whether  any  actress  that  suc- 
ceeded him  produced  an  equal  impression  on  the  audience. 
Kynaston  was   a  mere  lad  when,  as  a  member  of  Sir 
WiUiam  Davenant's  company,  he  made  his  first  appear- 
ance «  before  the  footlights  "  in  1659.    His  success  was 
immediate  ;  and  he  specially  earned  distinction,  as  Downes 
tells  us,  by  his  performance  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's 
"Loyal  Subject."     Pepys  saw  him  in  this  character  on 
the  18th  of  August,  1660  :-"  Captain  Ferrers,"  he  says 
« took  me  and  Creed  to  the  Cockpit  play,  the  first  that  I 
have  had  time  to  see  since  my  coming  from  sea,  '  The 
LoyaU  Subject,'  where  one  Kynaston,  a  boy,  acted  the 
Duke's  Sister  [Olympia],  but  made  the  loveliest  lady  that 
ever  I  saw  in  my  life.     After  the  play  done,  we  went  to 
drink,  and  by   Captain  Ferrers'   means,  Kinaston,  and 
another  that  acted  Archas  the  General,  came  and  drank 
with  us."     Pepys  saw  him  again  on  the  7th  of  January, 
1661,  in  Ben  Jonson's  "  Epicene  ;  or,  The  Silent  Woman." 
"  Among  other  things  here,"  says  Pepys,  "  Kynaston,  the 
boy,  had  the  good  time  to  appear  in  three  shapes  :  first, 
as  a  poor  woman  in  ordinary  clothes,  to  please  Morose ; 
then  in  fine  clothes,  as  a  gallant ;  and  in  these  was  clearly 
the  prettiest  woman  in  the  whole  house ;  and  lastly,  as  a 
man ;  and  then  likewise  did  appear  the  handsomest  man 
in  the  house." 


Q2  THE   MEERT  MONARCH; 

Ar...\.^  nf  his  eood  looks ;  and  Colley 
There  can  be  no  doubt  ot  ms  goo  ..  ^^elves 

+l.^v  mialit  have  sufficient  time  to  do,  because  piay 

'  !  ed  to  begin  at  four  o'clock,  the  hour  that  people  of 
were  used  to  begin  dinner."     On  one 

+i,»  aame  rank  are  now  (1740)  goin„  x.u 

Tn  t^e  King  entering  the  theatre  at  an  unusuaUy 

T  W  the  c^^tain  did  not  rise  as  usual,  because  the 
early  hour,  the  curta  ^^^^^^^  ^^^^  ^^ 

actors  were  not  ready  to  be  -  ^^^^^^^ 

nfir:h:t;al^x  -dUly  pleaded  that  the 
rr^  :  s  not  e.  shaved.  The  oddity  of  the  excuse  so 
Queen  w  „,,-.v,e  for<rot  his  ill-humour, 

tickled  the  K-S  that  hejo  =  ^.  ^  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^ 

As  he  grew  older,  ^y"-*^^^^^^^^         j,  ,3  ..^a  his  voice 

A  +^r.V  hia  place  as  a  leading  acwi . 
and  took  ms  pi^  characters  of 

vo-q  suffered  by  his  early  practice  in  tne  cii 
l,ad  -ff-f     y^^^^t,3y,,  feel  sick?"  said  Kynaston 
^T     U    one  day  when  the  latter  was  suffering  from 

r:;^t:fii^-.-----.r;.,-^^^-- 

.'    n-.H  Powell,  "  when  I  hear  your  voice  ? 
^t' «;  slfterof'  Sir  Charles  Sedley.  we  have  refe.ed  to 
thfcou"  er's  cruel  treatment  of  the  actor  for  mimick- 
!hTmn  dress  and  action,  on  the  stage      He  caused 
7  to  be  so  beaten  by  his  bravos  (on  the  30th  of  January 
^lo    thlhe  was  compelled  to  keep  his  bed  for  a  week^ 
I        .tired  on  the  9th  of  February,  as  the  King  of 
^art"  The  Island  Princess,"  which  "he  do  act  very 
I^rCysPepys,  "after  his   beating  by   Sir  Charles 

'trofT^rchlracters  was  "Don  Sebastian,"  in 

*  "  Apology  for  HU  own  Life,"  by  Colley  Cibber. 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAKLES  H. 


33 


D^den's  tragedy  of  that  name,  in  which  his    « lion  like 
Jesty  "  was  the  delight  of  tbe  town.    He  also     created, 
:X'phraseruns,"narcourt,"inWycherley's"Country 

Wife "(1675), "  Freeman,"  in  Wychevley's  "  Plain Deaer 
(1677),  and  "Count  Baldwin"  in  Southern's  "Isabella 
1G94        In  Shakespeare's  kings  he  made  an  admirable 
Lure     Cibber  remarks  of  his  assumption  of  Henry  IV. 
that  ii  was  truly  regal :  "  when  he  whispered  to  Hotspur 
■Send  us  your  prisoners,  or  you'll  hear  of  it,'  he  conveyed 
a  more  terrible  menace  in  it^  than  the  loudest  intemper- 
ance  of  voice  could  swell  to." 

Kynaston  figured  on  the  stage  full  forty  years-f rom 
1659  to  1699.  He  did  not  retire  too  soon,  for  his  memory 
had  latterly  begun  to  fail,  and  he  acted  with  dimuushed 
^i.our.  At  the  time  of  his  death  (1712),  he  was  probably 
about  67  years  old.     He  bequeathed  to  his  son  a  con- 

siderable  fortune.  . 

The  c^reatest  name  in  the  history  of  the  stage,  prior  to 
GarricVs,  is  that  of  Betterton,  whose  artistic  genius,  by 
common  consent,  was  of  the  ripest  and  most  comprehensive 
kind.     In  his  early  maturity,  Pepys,  no  incompetent  critic 
pronounced  him  "the  best  actor  in  the  world        In  his 
Ler  years,  Steele,  in  The  Tattler,  declared  that      such 
an  actor  ought  to  be  rewarded  with  the  same  respect  as 
Eoscius  among  the  Romans.     I  have  hardly  a  notion,    he 
adds,  "  that  any  performance  of  antiquity  could  surpass 
the  action  of  Mr.  Betterton  in  any  of  the  occasions  in 
which  he  has  appeared  upon  the  stage."      Pope  speaks  of 
him  with  an  enthusiasm  in  which  he  did  not  often  indulge 
And  Colley  Cibber  regarded  him  with  an  admiration  which 
was  tinged  with  reverence.     "  I  never,"  he  says,       heard 
a  line  in  tragedy  come  from  Betterton,  wherein  my  judg- 

D 

VOL.    II. 


f  ^ 


34  THE   MERRY  MONARCH; 

ment,  mj  ear,  and  my  imagination  were  not  fully  satisfied, 
whicli,  since  his  time,  I  cannot  equally  say  of  any  one 
actor  whatsoever.  .  .  A  further  excellence  in  Betterton," 
he  adds,  ''  was  that  he  could  vary  his  spirit  to  the  cha- 
racters he  acted.     Those  wild,  impatient  starts,  that  fierce 
and  flashing  fire  which  he  throws   into  Hotspur,  never 
came  from  the  unruffled  temper  of  his  Brutus  ;  when  the 
Bettei-ton  Brutus  was  provoked,  in  his  dispute  with  Cassius, 
his  spirit  flew  only  to  his  eye ;  his  steady  look  alone  sup- 
plied that  terror,  which  he  disdained  an  intemperance  in 
his  voice   should  rise  to.    Thus  with  a  settled  dignity  of 
contempt,  like  an  unhending  rock,  he  repelled  upon  him- 
self the  foam  of  Cassius.^'     How  true  an  artist  he  was 
appears  in  another  passage.     "  He  had  so  just  a  sense  of 
what  was  true  or  false  applause,  that  I  have  heard  him 
say,  he  never  thought  any  kind  of  it  equal  to  an  attentive 
silence ;  but  there  were  many  ways  of  deceiving  an  audi- 
ence into  a  loud  one ;  but  to  keep  them  hushed  and  quiet 
was     an    applause  which    only  truth  and  merit   could 
arrive  at  :   of  which   act  there  never  was  equal  master 
to  himself.    From  these  various  excellencies  he  had  so 
fuU  a  possession  of  the  esteem  and  regard  of  his  auditors, 
that  upon  his  entrance  into  every   scene   he   seemed  to 
seize  upon  the  eyes   and  ears   of  the   giddy   and  inad- 
vertent." 

This  great  actor  and  good  man  was  the  son  of  Charles 
I.'s  chief  cook,  and  was  born  at  Tothill  Street,  in  West- 
minster, which  then  enjoyed  a  more  respectable  reputation 
than  has  since  belonged  to  it,  about  1635.  At  an  early 
age  he  was  apprenticed  to  a  bookseller,  but  a  passion  for 
the  stage  took  possession  of  him,  and  when  the  theatres 
reopened  after  the  faU  of  the  Puritan  party,  he  easily 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


35 


obtained  an  engagement .''^    His  success  was  immediate; 
for  we  know  from  Pepys  that  his  performance  of  "  Hamlet " 
at  the  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  Theatre,  in  December,  1661, 
drew  thither  all  the  rank  and  fashion  of  London.     The 
"  Ophelia "  on  that   occasion   was   Mistress  Saunderson, 
whom  he  soon  afterwards  married  (1663).  As  for  "Hamlet," 
the  performance  was  so  graceful  and  yet  dignified — the 
interpretation  of  the  author  was  marked  by   such   con- 
summate intelligence — the  elocution  was  so  perfect — that 
the  audience  were  stirred  into  an  unbounded  enthusiasm, 
and  Mr.  Pepys  only  expressed  the  general  opinion  when  he 
exclaimed,  "  It's  the  best  acted  part  ever  done  by  man  !  " 
Throughout  his  long  theatrical  career,  which  extended  just 
one  year  over  half  a  century,   his   "  Hamlet  '*   remained 
one  of  his   finest  impersonations.     Davenant,   who  had 
seen  it  performed  by  Taylor,  the  successor  to  Burbage, 
and  the  inheritor  of  his  "  points,"  taught  him  the  stage 
traditions,  and  he  himself  elaborated  the  part  with  un- 
ceasing care  and  study.      "  When  I  played  the  Ghost  to 
him,"  said  Booth,    "instead  of  awing  him,  he   terrified 
me !  "     Gibber  has  recorded  some  details  of  his  acting  in 
the   Ghost   scene.     "  He   opened   with  a  pause  of  mute 
amazement;  then  rising  slowly,  to  a  solemn,  trembling 
voice,  he  made  the  Ghost  equally  terrible  to  the  spectator 
as  to  himself;  and  in  the  descriptive  part  of  the  natural 
emotions  which  the  ghostly  vision  gave  him,  the  boldness 
of  his  expostulation  was  still  governed  by  decency— manly, 
but  not  braving ;  his  voice  was  rising  into  that  seeming 
outrage,  or  wild  defiance  of  what  he  naturally  revered." 
Betterton  was  held  in  such  esteem  by  the  King,  that  he 

•  His  employer,  Rhodes,  had  been  keeper  of  the  wardrobe  to  the  Black- 
friar's  company  of  actors,  and  through  him  he  made  the  acquaintance  of 
Davenant. 


36 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


sent  him  to  Paris  to  study  tlie  stage  scenery  used  in  the 
Parisian  theatres,  and  introduce  into  the  London  play- 
houses such  reforms  as  he  might  deem  desirable.  When 
the  courtiers  performed  the  pastoral  of  "  Calista ;  or,  The 
Chaste  Nymph/'  before  the  King  and  Queen,  Betterton 
was  engaged  to  instruct  the  gentlemen  in  their  parts, 
while  the  tuition  of  the  Princesses  Mary  and  Anne  was 
entrusted  to  his  wife . 

From  first  to  last  Betterton  was  in  earnest  in  his  pro- 
fession.    "  He  is  a  very  sober,  serious  man/'  says  Pepys, 
"and  studious,  and  humble,  following  of  his  studies,  and 
is  rich  already  with  what  he  gets  and  saves."     He  did  his 
best  with   each  new  part  he  assumed,  whether  it  was 
''  Bonduca "    in  Massinger's    "  Bondman,"    "  Sir    John 
Brute,"   in  Vanbrugh's   ''  Provoked  Wife,"  or   "  Yalen- 
tine,"  in  Congreve's  "Love  for  Love."     A  man  of  rare 
ability  and  judgment,  his  society  was  sought  by  the  best 
wits  and  scholars  of  the  time.      Dryden  listened  to  his 
witticisms    with    respect;    Cowley,    Otway,    Rowe,   and 
brilliant  Mrs.  Centlivre  were  among  his  friends ;  and  Til- 
lotson  greatly  enjoyed  his  conversation.    Everybody  knows 
the  anecdote   which   illustrates    the    closeness   of    their 
intimacy.     The  great  preacher  professed  himself  unable 
to  understand  why  his  friend,  the  actor,  exercised  so  much 
more  influence  over  his  hearers,  over  their  emotions  and 
sympathies,  than  he  did.     "  You,  in   the  pulpit,"  said 
Betterton,   "  only  tell   a   story ;    I,    on   the   stage,   show 
facts."     Pope  was  among  his  disciples  in  the  actor's  old 
ao'e,  and   submitted  to  his   criticism  his  juvenile    epic, 
"  Alcander,   Prince  of  Rhodes  "  —  of   which   Betterton 
thought  sufficiently  well  to  advise  its  conversion  into  a 
dramatic  form. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


37 


In  connection  with  this  great  actor— the  glory  of  the 
stage  of  the  Restoration— two  or  three  good  stories   are 
told.    With  his  savings  he  bought  some  land  near  Reading ; 
and  one  of  his  tenants  coming  up  to  London  to  pay  his 
rent,  during  the  run  of  Bartholomew  Fair,  Betterton  took 
him  to  see  some  of  its  surprising  sights.     They  went  into 
a   puppet-show— the  owner  declining  to  take   the   usual 
admission  fees,  on  the  ground  that  Mr.  Betterton  was  a 
brother  actor  !  The  rustic  was  so  delighted  with  Punch  that 
he  vowed  he  would  drink  with  him ;  nor  would  he  be  con- 
tent until  his  conductor  had  taken  him  behind  the  scenes 
and  showed  him  that  the  puppet  actors  were  only    "rags 
and  sticks."    At  night  he  accompanied  Betterton  to  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  where  Dryden's  play  of  "  Amphitryon  "  was 
performed,  the  principal  *   parts  by  Betterton  and  Mrs. 
Barry.   Asked,  when  the  curtain  dropped,  what  he  thought 
of  them,  the  good  clodpole,  who  had  mistaken  them  for 
puppets,   replied,  "Oh,    'twas   wonderful  well  done  for 

sticks  and  rags  !  " 

When  CoUey  Cibber  first  appeared  on  the  London  stage, 
he  was  unlucky  enough,  in  some  small  part  he  played, 
to  put  the  great  master  out.  Instant  inquiry  was  made  as 
to  the  offender's  name  and  salary.  "  CoUey  Cibber,  was 
it?— and  he  receives  nothing?  Then  put  him  down  ten 
shiUincrs  a  week,  and  forfeit  him  five."  Well  pleased  was 
young  Cibber  to  pay  the  forfeit,  and  secure  a  regular 
weekly  engagement. 

When  Betterton  produced  at  his  own  theatre  Rowe's 
"Fair  Penitent,"  with  Mrs.  Barry  as  Calista,  the  part 
of  Lothario  was  played  by  the  irascible  Powell.     In 

*  The  nnsophisticated  Berkshire  farmer  must  have  been  much  edified  by 
thiB  lively  play,  the  "gratuitous  indelicacy"  of  which  has  very  properly 
been  censured  by  Sir  Walter  Scott. 


38 


THE  MEEEY  MONARCH; 


the  last  scene  Lothario's  dead  body  lies  on  the  bier, 
under  decent  covering;  and  it  was  usual  for  Warren, 
PowelFs  dresser,  to  take  his  master's  place,  instead  of 
a  dummy.  On  one  occasion,  forgetting  how  he  was 
employed,  Powell  called  angrily  for  his  dresser,  and  at 
last  with  such  a  threatening  emphasis  that  the  poor 
fellow  leaped  up  in  a  hurry,  and  ran  from  the  stage.  In 
his  flight  it  so  befell  that  his  cloak  caught  in  the  bier, 
which  was  overturned,  along  with  table  and  lamps,  books 
and  boxes,  and  even  the  Fair  Penitent  herself.  The 
audience  broke  into  a  peal  of  laughter,  and  the  catas- 
trophe became  the  jest  of  the  town.  With  a  proper 
sense  of  what  was  due  to  its  author,  Betterton  stopped 
the  play  in  its  full  flood  of  success,  so  that  the  public 
might  have  time  to  forget  the  untoward  incident. 

Justly  resenting  the  unfair  treatment  to  which  he 
and  his  fellow-actors  were  subjected  by  the  proprietors 
of  the  theatre,  Betterton,  in  1695,  collected  round  him  a 
first-rate  company,  and  opened  a  new  theatre  in  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields.  Congreve  wrote  for  him  his  "Love  for 
Love/'  which  was  produced  on  the  first  night,  and  was 
an  immense  triumph.  "  Scarcely  any  comedy  within  the 
memory  of  the  oldest  man  had  been  equally  successful. 
The  actors  were  so  elated  that  they  gave  Congreve  a 
share  in  their  theatre;  and  he  promised  in  return  to 
furnish  them  with  a  play  every  year,  if  his  health  would 
permit."  Two  years  passed,  however,  before  he  produced 
"The  Mourning  Bride/'  the  success  of  which  was  even 
greater  than  that  of  *'  Love  for  Love."  But  gradually 
the  new  theatre  ceased  to  attract ;  and  no  better  future 
attended  a  theatre  in  the  Haymarket,  which  some  of 
Betterton's  friends  and  admirers  built  for  him.     He  had 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


39 


lost  most  of  his  fortune  in  an  East  Indian  speculation 
into  which  he  had  been  tempted  by    his    friend,    Sir 
Frederick  Watson  ;*  and  a  "  benefit "   which  was  given 
him  in  the  season  of  1708-9  was  very  welcome  to  the  aged 
actor.    In  money  for  admission  he  received  only  £76 ; 
but  the  donations  poured  in  so  liberally  that  the  net 
result  was  not  less  than  £520.     On  this  occasion  he 
played  Valentine  in  "  Love  for  Love."     Next  year  it  was 
determined  that  the  benefit  should  be  repeated.      At  the 
time  Betterton  was  suffering  severely   from   gout ;   and 
before  he    could  limp   upon  the    stage  was    compelled 
to    resort    to    violent    medicines.      The    part    he    had 
chosen  was  Melantius  in  '-The  Maid's  Tragedy"  (April 
10th,  1710),  and  he  performed  it  with  much  of  his   old 
fire.    But  the  remedies  employed  drove  the  gout  to  his 
head,  and  in  a  few  days  it  proved  fatal.     He  died  on  the 
28th,  and  was   interred    with  many    tokens    of   public 
admiration  and  regret  in  Westminster  Abbey.     "  Having 
received  notice,"  says  Sir  Eichard  Steele,  in  The   Tatler 
that  "  the  famous  actor,  Mr.  Betterton,  was  to  be  interred 
this  evening  in  the  cloisters  near  Westminster  Abbey, 
I  was  resolved  to  walk  thither  and  see  the  last  offices 
done  to   a  man  whom  I  always  very   much   admired, 
and  from  whose  action  I  had  received  more  strong  im- 
pressions of  what  is  great  and  noble  in  human  nature, 
than  from  the  arguments  of  the  most   solemn  philoso- 
phers, or  the  descriptions  of  the  most   charming  poets 

I  have  ever  read." 

Gibber  tells  us  that  this  brilliant  actor  did  not  exceed 
the  middle  stature ;  that  his  aspect  was  grave  and  pene- 

*  Watson  himself  was  wholly  ruined,  and  the  generous  Betterton  adopted 
his  daughter  (afterwards  Mrs.  Bowman). 


40 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH. 


trating;  his  limbs  strongly  knit  rather  than  gracefully 
proportioned;  and  his  voice,  which  he  managed  with 
wonderful  skill,  more  manly  than  sweet.  An  ill-natured 
sketch  of  him  by  Anthony  Aston — the  first  of  the 
notorious  race  of  "  captious  critics  " — speaks  of  his  figure 
as  clumsy,  with  a  large  head,  a  short,  thick  neck,  and 
a  corpulent  body;  his  eyes  were  small,  he  says,  and 
his  face  was  pock-marked;  while  he  had  thick  legs, 
large  feet,  and  short  fat  arms  which  he  rarely  raised 
above  his  stomach.  Over  these  personal  disadvantages, 
which,  however,  Aston  certainly  exaggerated,  his  genius 
completely  triumphed  ;  and  even  our  captious  critic 
acknowledges — what  the  public  for  half  a  century  gladly 
recognized — that  he  was  '^  a  superlatively  good  actor." 

Such  were  the  principal  "ornaments  of  the  stage" 
when  Charles  II.  was  King.  It  is  the  misfortune  of  the 
actor  that  he  can  bequeath  to  posterity  only  a  tradition 
and  a  name ;  his  work  is  as  fugitive  as  himself ;  nothing 
lives  of  all  that  he  accomplishes.  We  have  no  means  of 
comparing  him  with  his  successors,  and  must  take  his 
merits  upon  trust,  in  the  hope  that  his  contemporaries 
were  not  more  frequently  mistaken  in  their  judgments 
than  we  are  ! 


THE   ACTEESSES. 


Nell  GwraN. 
Mrs.  Hughes. 
Mrs.  Knipp. 
Mrs.  Davenport. 
Mary  Davis. 


Mrs.  Barry. 
Mrs.  Betterton. 
Mrs.  Mountfort. 
Mrs.  Bracegiedle. 


CHAPTEE  II. 


THE      ACTRESSES. 

Nell  Gwtnn — ^Mrs.  Hughes — Mrs.  Knipp — Mrs.  Daven- 
port— Mart  Davis — Mrs.  Barry— Mrs.  Betterton 
— Mrs.  Mountfort — Mrs.  Bracegirdle. 

Of  all  tlie  frail  beauties  and  lewd  dames  of  Charles  II.'s 
Court,  the  only  one  whom  the  public  regarded  with  any 
tolerance  or  liking  was  Nell  Gwynn.  Perhaps  this 
condonation  of  her  errors  was  due  to  the  fact  that  she 
had  sprung,  as  it  were,  from  the  ranks — was  "one  of 
themselves;"  perhaps  it  was  based  upon  her  good- 
nature, her  frank  vivacity,  her  lively  humour.  However 
this  may  be,  it  is  certain  that  to  the  day  of  her  death  she 
was  a  popular  favourite ;  and  the  anecdote  collectors  and 
annalists,  treating  her  with  equal  indulgence,  have  so 
touched  her  portrait  that  even  in  this  later  time,  with  its 
higher  views  of  womanly  purity,  a  popular  favourite  she 
continues  still.  In  comedy  and  in  opera  she  has  proved  an 
attractive  heroine ;  while  none  of  Charles  II.^s  utterances 
are  remembered  with  more  sympathy  than  that  dying  one 
which  expressed  his  hope  that  "  poor  Nelly ''  would  not 
be  allowed  to  starve. 

The  ancient  world  could  not  agree  upon  Homer^s  birth- 


44 


THE    MEKRY   MONARCH; 


place,  and  seven  cities  claimed  him  as  citizen.  Almost  as 
mucli  dubiety  attends  the  birthplace  of  Eleanor  Gwjnn. 
At  Hereford  you  are  shown  a  small  mean  house  in  Pipe 
Lane,  as  the  scene  of  her  birth ;  but  this  is  disputed  by 
Coal  Yard,  Drury  Lane ;  and  yet  another  caveat  is  lodged 
by  Oxford,  where,  it  is  said,  Nell's  father— a  *'  captain," 
according  to  one  authority,  a  "  fruiterer/'  according  to 
others — died  in  prison.  As  she  was  indisputably  of  Welsh 
extraction,  I  am  disposed  to  support  the  claim  of  Here- 
ford. Tradition  relates  that  at  a  very  early  age  she  ran 
away  from  her  country  home;  and,  while  in  her  first 
''  teens,^'  gained  a  meagre  livelihood  as  a  vendor  of  cheap 
fish.     So  says  Eochester : — 

"  Her  first  employment  was,  with  open  throat. 
To  cry  fresh  hei-rings,  even  ten  a  groat.'* 

Nature  had  gifted  her  with  a  fine  voice  and  a  sharp 
wit;  and  basket  in  hand  she  wandered  from  tavern  to 
tavern,  delighting  their  frequenters  by  her  songs  and 
repartees,  and  captivating  the  hearts  of  susceptible 
link-boys.  For  a  time  she  seems  to  have  officiated 
behind  a  bar.  Listen  to  Pepys  :— "  Nelly  and  Beck 
Marshall  falling  out  the  other  day,  the  latter  called 
the  other  my  Lord  Buckhurst's  mistress.  Nell  answered 
her,  *  I  am  but  one  man^s  mistress,  though  I  was  brought 
up  in  a  tavern  to  fill  strong  waters  to  gentlemen ;  and  you 
are  mistress  to  three  or  four,  though  a  Presbyter's  pray- 
ing daughter.' "  And  it  may  at  least  be  said  to  the  credit 
of  poor  Nell  that  to  her  "  protector  "  for  the  time  being 
she  was  always  faithful. 

After  a  temporary  passage  through  the  hands  of 
Madame  Eoss,  who  kept  a  notorious  bagnio,  Nell  Gwynn 
found  her  way  into  the  pit  at  the  King's  Theatre,  where 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


45 


she  sold  oranges  and  pippins  to  the  gallants,  and  bandied 
jests  and  jibes  which,  it  is  to  be  feared,  were  not  always 
very  delicate.     The  fresh  and  piquant  beauty  dazzled  the 
wondering  pit,  and  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
actors,  especially  of  Lacy  and  the  dashing  Charles  Hart. 
She  lived  with  the  latter  for  some  months,  and  under  his 
instruction  appeared  upon  the  stage  of  Drury  Lane,  early 
in  1667,  as  "Cydacia"  in  Dryden's  "Indian  Emperor" 
...  "a   great  and   serious  part"  which,   according  to 
Pepys,"^  she  did  "  most  basely."     For  such  characters  she 
was  suited  neither  physically  nor  mentally;  and  it  was 
not  until  she  assumed    comic  characters,  in  which  she 
could  give  free  vent  to  her  infectious  laugh,  and  show  her 
pretty  ankles  and  tiny  feet,   and   sing  with  a  natural 
feeling  which  charmed  every  hearer,  that  she  became  the 
darling  of  court  and  city.     Lord  Buckhurst  (afterwards 
Earl  of  Dorset)  soon  beguiled  her  away  from  the  scene  of 
her  triumphs  to  keep  wild  revel  with  him  at  Epsom. 

Under  the  date  of  July,  1667,  Pepys  records :— "  Mr. 
Pierce  tells  me  what  troubles  me,  that  my  Lord  Buckhurst 


*  Pepys  has  several  allusions  to  Nell  Gwynn  in  his  1667  diary.  In 
January  he  was  introduced  to  her  one  day,  after  she  had  acted  Cselia 
in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Humorous  Lieutenant"  :—"  Knipp,"  he  says, 
"  took  us  all  in,  and  introduced  us  to  Nelly,  a  most  pretty  woman,  who  acted 
the  great  part  of  Cailia  to-day,  very  fine,  and  did  it  very  well ;  I  kissed  her, 
and  so  did  my  wife,  and  a  mighty  prctry  soul  she  is."  Again  he  writes: 
"After  dinner  with  my  wife  to  the  King's  House  to  see  *Tho  Maiden  Queen,' 
a  new  play  of  Dryden's,  mightily  commended  for  the  regularity  of  it,  and  the 
strain  and  wit,  and  the  truth ;  for  there  is  a  comical  part  done  by  Nell, 
which  is  Florimel,  that  I  never  can  hope  ever  to  see  the  like  done  again  by 
man  or  w^oman.  The  King  and  Duke  of  York  were  at  the  play.  But  so 
great  performance  of  a  comical  part  was  never,  I  believe,  in  the  world 
before  as  Nell  do  this,  both  as  a  mad  girl,  then  most  and  best  of  all  when  she 
comes  in  like  a  young  gallant ;  and  hath  the  motions  and  carriage  of  a  spark, 
the  most  that  ever  I  saw  any  man  have.  It  makes  me,  I  confess,  admire  her." 
And,  airain,  on  the  Ist  of  May :— "  To  Westminster,  in  the  way  meeting  many 
milk-maids,  with  their  garlands  upon  their  pails,  dancing  with  a  fiddler 
before  them,  and  saw  pretty  Nelly  standing  at  her  lodging's  door  in  Drury 
Lane,  in  her  smock  sleeves  and  boddice,  looking  upon  me ;  she  seemed  a 
mighty  pretty  creature." 


46 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


hath  got  Nell  away  from  the  King's  House,  and  gives  her 
£100  a  year,  so  as  she  hath  sent  her  parts  to  the  house, 
and  will  act  no  more."  And  on  the  14th  he  writes: — 
"  To  Epsom,  by  eight  o'clock,  to  the  well,  where  much 
company.  And  to  the  town  to  the  King's  Head ;  and  hear 
that  my  Lord  Buckhurst  and  Nelly  are  lodged  at  the  next 
house,  and  Sir  Charles  Sedley  with  them ;  and  keep  a 
merry  house.  Poor  girl,  I  pity  her  ;  hut  more  the  loss  of 
her  at  the  King's  Mouse,''  It  may  be  that  Nell's  brusque- 
ness  of  manner  and  freedom  of  speech  offended  the  fasti- 
dious taste  of  Buckhurst;-^  at  all  events,  their  intimacy 
was  not  of  long  duration.  As  early  as  the  26th  of 
August,  Pepys  writes  :— ''  Sir  William  Penn  and  I  had  a 
great  deal  of  discourse  with  Mall,  who  tells  us  that  Nell  is 
already  left  by  my  Lord  Buckhurst,  and  that  he  makes 
sport  of  her,t  and  that  she  is  very  poor,  and  hath  lost  my 
Lady  Castlemaine,  who  was  her  great  friend ;  she  is  come 
to  the  play-house,  but  is  neglected  by  them  all." 

This  neglect  must  have  been  very  transient ;  for  before 
the  end  of  the  year  she  was  again  the  ornament  of  the 
stage  and  the  delight  of  the  play-going  public.  Her 
Florimel  in  "The  Maiden  Queen,"  and  her  Jacinta  in 
"  The  Mock  Astrologer,^'  were  particularly  admired ;  and 
her  enlarged  experience  enabled  her  to  treat  serious 
characters  with  greater  success  than  before.  Her  Alma- 
hide  in  Dryden's  "  Conquest  of  Granada'^  (1674)  was  the 
talk  of  the  town,  and  had  not  been  forgotten  when  Lord 

*  Nell  Gwynn  seems  to  have  had,  however,  a  real  attachment  to  the  ac- 
complished nobleman,  whom  she  called  her  "  Charles  I."  In  that  case.  Major 
Charles  Hart,  the  actor,  would  be  her  *'  Charles  II.,"  though  it  is  generally 
jBupposed  that  he  had  the  precedence  of  Buckhurst.  The  King  was,  of 
course,  "  her  Charles  III."  _ 

t  From  what  we  know  of  Buckhurst*s  character,  this  seems  difficult  of 

belief. 


OE,    ENGLAND   UNDER  CHARLES   II. 


47 


Lansdowne,  a  quarter  of  a  century  later,  referred  to  the 
impression  it  had  produced  upon  King  Charles: — 

"  Past  is  the  gallantry,  the  fame  remains 
Transmitted  safe  in  Dryden's  lofty  strains  ; 
Granada  lost  beheld  her  pomps  restored, 
And  Almahide  once  more  by  kings  adored.** 

In  Dryden's  play  Major  Charles  Hart,  NelPs  old  lover, 
played  Almanzor  ;  and  his  relation  to  Almahide  and  King 
Boabdelin  being  exactly  that  which  off  the  stage  he  held 
towards  Nell  Gwynn  and  King  Charles,  every  passage 
touching  upon  it  was  received  by  the  audience  with  a 
laughter  which  pointed  the  joke. 

At  the  rival  theatre  Nokes,  the  comedian,  had  recently 
saved  a  tedious  play  by  wearing  an  immense  hat.  Dryden 
immediately  caused  one  to  be  made  for  Nell,  of  the  size  of 
a  cart-wheel.  She  wore  it  while  delivering  the  prologue, 
and  her  quaintly  humorous  appearance  and  piquant 
manners  pro  duced  quite  "  a  sensation.'^ 

It  was  as  Valeria  in  Dryden's  "Tyrannic  Love"  that  the 
audacious  quean  completed  her  conquest  of  the  easy  heart 
of  Charles.  Dryden,  we  are  told,  wrote  the  part  with  this 
result  in  view,  and  also  the  lively  epilogue,  spoken  just  as 
the  dead  Valeria  is  about  to  be  carried  off  by  bearers.  We 
transcribe  it  here ;  and  the  reader  can  easily  imagine  with 
what  dash  and  vivacity  Mistress  Nelly  would  deliver  it. 
How,  suddenly  starting  to  her  feet,  and  assuming  an  air 
of  mock  indignation,  she  would  rattle  away  at  her  would- 
be  bearers, — 

**  Hold  1  are  you  mad  ?  you  d — d  confounded  dog, 
I  am  to  rise,  and  speak  the  Epilogue." 

Then,  with  a  complete  change  of  voice — a  smile,  and  a 
pert  moue — turning  to  the  audience : 


48  THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 

«*  I  come,  kind  gentlemen,  strange  news  to  tell  ye  ; 
I  am  the  ghost  of  poor  departed  Nelly. 
Sweet  ladies,  be  not  frightened :  I'll  be  civil, 
I'm  what  I  was,  a  little  harmless  devil. 
For,  after  death,  we  sprites  have  just  such  natures 
We  had,  for  all  the  world,  when  human  creatures: 
And,  therefore,  I,  that  was  an  actress  here, 
Play  all  my  tricks  in  hell,  a  goblin  there. 
Gallants,  look  to  't,  you  say  there  are  no  sprites  ; 
iput  111  come  down  about  your  beds  at  night. 
And  faith  you'll  be  in  a  sweet  kind  of  taking, 
When  I  surprise  you  between  sleep  and  waking. 
To  tell  you  true,  I  walk,  because  I  die. 
Out  of  my  calling  in  a  tragedy. 
O  poet,  d— d  dull  poet,  who  could  prove 
So  senseless,  to  make  Nelly  die  for  love  I 
Nay,  what's  yet  worse,  to  kill  me  in  the  prime 

Of  Easter-term,  in  tart  and  cheese-cake  time  I 
ril  fit  the  fop,  for  I'll  not  one  word  say 
To  excuse  his  godly  out-of-fashion  play  ; 
A  play  which  if  you  dare  but  twice  sit  out, 

You'll  all  be  slandered,  and  be  thought  devout. 

But,  farewell,  gentlemen,  make  haste  to  me, 

I'm  sure  we  long  to  have  your  company. 

As  for  my  epitaph  when  I  am  gone, 

I'll  tend  no  poet,  but  will  write  my  own  : — 

Here  Nelly  lies,  who,  though  she  lived  a  slattern, 

Yet  died  a  Princess,  acting  in  St.  Cat'rine." 

Thenceforward  the  stage  saw  Nell  Gwynn  no  more. 
She  had  stipulated  that  £500  a  year  should  he  settled  on 
her.  This  Charles  refused ;  but  the  influence  she  obtained 
over  him  was  so  great  that,  within  four  years,  she  had 
received  £60,000.  Subsequently,  she  was  placed  on  the 
Excise  as  a  pensioner  for  £6,000  a  year,  and  for  £3,000 
more  for  the  expenses  of  each  of  her  two  sons  :— Charles 
Beauclerc,  born  in  her  house  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  in 
May,  1670,  and  James,  born  in  the  following  year,  at  her 
house  in  Pall  Mall.  The  latter  died  in  1680.  The  elder, 
who  had  Otway  for  his  tutor,  was  created  Earl  of  Burford 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


49 


in  1676,  and  Duke  of  St.  Albans  in  1684.'^     The  present 
ducal  family  of  St.  Albans  is  descended  from  him. 

The  fetters  of  Court  etiquette — never  very  heavy  in  the 
reign  of  the  second  Charles — sat  lightly  enough  upon  the 
wayward  and  audacious  Nelly.  She  rattled  out  her  small 
oaths;  she  exchanged  brisk  repartees  with  whomsoever 
was  bold  enough  to  encounter  her  sharp  and  ready  wit ; 
and  when  her  royal  master  sank  into  one  of  his  graver 
moods, 

"  .     .     .     .  would  still  be  jocund, 
And  chuck  the  royal  chin  of  Charles  the  Second." 

On  one  occasion.  Bowman,  the  actor,  then  a  young  man, 
famous  for  his  fine  voice,  had  been  engaged  to  take  part 
in  a  concert  at  her  house,  and  the  King,  with  the  Duke  of 
York  and  two  or  three  courtiers,  were  present.  At  the 
close  of  the  performance  Charles  expressed  himself  highly 
pleased.  "Then,  sir,"  said  Nell  Gwynn,  "to  show  you 
don't  speak  like  a  courtier,  I  hope  you  will  make  the 
performers  a  handsome  present."  The  King  said  lie  had 
no  money  about  him,  and  asked  the  Duke  if  he  had  any, 
"  I  believe,  sir,"  said  the  Duke,  "  not  above  a  guinea  or 
two."  Then,  with  her  delightful  laugh,  Nell  turned  to 
the  people  about  her,  and  boldly  adopting  the  King's 
favourite  oath,  "  Od's  fish !  "  she  cried,  "  What  company 
have  I  got  into !  " 

The  grave  Evelyn  relates  that,  accompanying  the  King 


♦  Madam  Ellen,  as  she  was  called  after  her  instalment  as  the  King's 
niit^tress,  secured  her  son's  advancement  to  a  title  by  a  characteristic  device. 
One  day,  when  the  King  was  in  her  apartments,  the  boy  wsis  amusing  him- 
self in  some  childish  game.  "  Come  here,"  she  cried,  "  you  little  bastard  !  " 
Tlie  King  reproving  her  for  using  an  epithet  which,  if  ju.>-tili:ible,  was  cer- 
tainly offensive,  "  Indeed,"  she  replied,  "  I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  have  no 
other  name  to  give  him,  poor  boy  1  "  Charles  took  the  hint,  and  gave  him 
a  name  and  a  title. 


VOL.    II. 


E 


50  THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 

during  one  of  his  daily  constitutional  walks  in  the  Park, 
in  1671,  he  could  not  but  overhear  ''a  very  familiar  dis- 
course ''  between  his  Majesty  and  the  "  impudent  come- 
dian/'     She  was  looking  out  of  her  garden,  on  a  terrace 
at  the  top  of  a  wall,  while  the  King  stood  on  the  green 
walk  beneath.     No  wonder  Evelyn   was   scandalized  at 
what  he  saw  and  heard.      This  house  stood  on  the  south 
side  of  Pall  Mall ;    it  was  given  by  the  King  to  Nell 
Gwynn  on  a  long  lease.     The  story  runs,  that  on  her  dis- 
covering  it  to   be   only  a  lease   under  the  Crown  she 
returned  him  the  lease  and  conveyance,  saying  she  had 
always  "  conveyed  free "  under  the  Crown,   and   always 
would ;  and  would  not  accept  it  till  it  was  conveyed  free 
to  her  by  an  Act  of  Parliament,  made  on  and  for  that 
purpose.     It  was   afterwards   in   the   possession   of  the 
famous  physician  Heberden ;  and,  until  recently,  was  occu- 
pied by  the  Society  for  the  Propagation  of  the  Gospel  in 
Foreign  Parts.    It  is  now  numbered  79.     She  had  pre- 
viously lived  on  the  other  side  of  Pall  Mall,  in  a  house  on 
the  left-hand  of  St.  Jameses  Square,  the  site  of  which  is 
occupied  by  the  present  Army  and  Navy  Club.      She  had 
also  a  house  by  the  river-side,  two  miles  out  of  town, 
built,  it  is  said,  by  the  architect  of  Chelsea  Hospital,  and 
later  known  as  Sandford  Manor  House.     The  tradition  is 
that  the  King's  Eoad  received  its  name  from  the  King's 
frequent  visits  to  this  spot.      At  Windsor  she  resided  in 
Burford  House,  in  which    she   was  succeeded    by   the 
Princess    Anne.      Her    name    is    also   associated  with 
Lauderdale  House,  Highgate  (now  a  convalescent  branch 
of  St.  Bartholomew's  Hospital)  ;  where,  according  to  a 
popular  myth,  she  received  Charles's  recognition  of  her 
infant,  aferwards   Duke  of  St.   Alban's,  by  holding   it 


OR,    ENGLAUfD    UNDER   CHARLES    II. 


51 


1 


out  of  a  window,  and  threatening  to  let  it  fall  unless  he 
grave  it  a  title. 

When  Charles  IT.  visited  Winchester  in  the  spring  of 
1681,  to  superintend  the  erection  of  a  stately  palace  which 
he  had  projected,  he  was  accompanied  by  Nell  Gwynn 
and  desiring  to  lodge  her  close  to  his  own  apartments  at 
the  Deanery,  he  demanded  her  admittance  to  the  adjoin- 
ing prebendal  residence  of  the  illustrious  Ken.  With  all 
the  courage  of  a  truly  virtuous  mind  the  future  Bishop 
refused  the  royal  request.  "  Not  for  his  kingdom ! ''  was 
the  uncompromising  answer;  and  Charles  had  the  good 
sense  to  admire  his  chaplain's  conscientiousness. 

Nor  did  Nell  Gwynn  take  ofiPence.  To  do  her  justice, 
she  made  no  hypocritical  pretence  of  virtue,  but  candidly 
acknowledged  her  dishonourable  position.  In  February, 
1680,  when  she  visited  the  Duke's  Theatre,  in  Lincoln's 
Inn  Fields,  a  person  in  the  pit  loudly  applied  to  her  the 
coarse  name  which  the  language  of  the  streets  bestows 
upon  lewd  women.  She  heard  it  with  a  laugh ;  but  with 
mistaken  chivalry  it  was  resented  by  Thomas  Herbert, 
afterwards  Earl  of  Pembroke, — perhaps  because  he  had 
married  the  younger  sister  of  another  of  the  King's 
favourites,  Louise  de  la  Querouaille.  A  commotion 
ensued.  Some  of  the  audience  sided  with  Nelly's 
champion,  others  with  her  assailant.  Swords  were  drawn, 
and  a  few  scratches  exchanged,  before  the  unseemly 
quarrel  could  be  subdued.  She  was  one  day  driving 
through  the  streets  of  Oxford,  when  the  populace,  mis- 
taking her  for  the  French  harlot,  the  Duchess  of  Ports- 
mouth, who  was,  of  course,  a  Eoman  Catholic,  began  to 
hurl  at  her  the  foulest  epithets  in  their  vocabulary.  Nell 
put  her  head  out  of  the  coach  window.      "  Good  people," 


52 


THE    MERET   MONARCH  ; 


she  said,  with  that  charming  laugh  of  hers,  which  nobodf 
could  resist,  "you  are  mistaken;    I  am  the  Protestant 

w— e!" 

The  rivalry  between  Nell  and  the  infamous  Duchess  of 
Portsmouth  was  open  and  avowed,  and  a  curious  picture 
of  it  is  drawn  in  one  of  her  letters  by  Madame  de  Sevigne. 
"The   Duchess   of  Portsmouth,"   she   writes,   "has  not 
failed  in  anything  she  proposed  to  herself.     She  desired 
to  be  mistress  to  the  King,  and  so  she  is ;   he  lodges  with 
her  almost  every  night,  in  the  face  of  the  Court ;  she  has 
had  a  son,  who  has  been  acknowledged,  and  presented 
with  a  couple  of  duchies.      She  accumulates  wealth,  and 
makes  herself  feared  and  respected  by  as  many  as  she  can. 
But  she  did  not  anticipate  that  she  should  find  in  her 
way  a  young  actress,  on  whom  the  King  dotes  ;    and  from 
whom    she    finds   it   impossible   to  withdraw  him.     He 
divides  his  time,  his  care,  and  his  health  between  the  two. 
The  actress  is  not  less  haughty  than  the  Duchess  ;    she 
insults  her,  she  makes  grimaces  at  her,  she  attacks  her : 
she  frequently  steals  the  King  from  her,  and  boasts  when- 
ever he  gives  her  the  preference.       She  is  young,  indis- 
creet, confident,  wild,  and  of  an  agreeable  humour.     She 
sings,  she  dances,  and  she  acts  with  a  good  grace.     She 
has  a  son  by  the  King,  and  hopes  to  have  him  acknow- 
ledged.     For  she  reasons  thus  :    ^  This  Duchess  pretends 
to  be  a  person  of  quality ;    she  affirms  that  she  is  related 
to  the  best  families  in  France,  and  whenever  any  person 
of  distinction  dies,  she  puts  herself  in  mourning.*     If  she 

*  It  was  the  custom  of  Mademoiselle  do  la  QiieroiiaiUe  to  put  on  mourning 
at  the  death  of  any  member  of  the  French  aristocracy,  on  t^«  P^^^^^^^^.'^^; 
Bhe  was  related  to  all  the  great  families  of  France  A  Fi-ench  P^"^^^>  1^° 
about  the  same  time  as  the  Cham  .>f  Trutary.  Mademoiselle  put  on  mourn 
mg,and  so  did  Nelly,  who,  when  a>ked  for  whom  she  wore  «^t)le.  laugtimgly 
replied,  "  Oh,  for  the  Cham  of  Tartary,  who  was  quite  as  nearly  related  to 
me  as  the  Prince  de was  to  Mademoiselle  de  QuerouaiUe. 


OR^  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


53 


be  a  lady  of  such  quality,  why  does  she  lower  herself  to  he 
a  courtesan  ?  She  ought  to  die  with  shame.  As  for  me, 
it  is  my  profession ;  I  pretend  to  nothing  better.  The 
King  entertains  me,  and  I  am  constant  to  him  at  present. 
He  has  a  son  by  me ;  I  profess  that  he  ought  to  acknow- 
ledge him ;  and  I  am  well  assured  that  he  will,  for  he 
loves  me  as  well  as  he  loves  the  Duchess.' " 

The  popular  affection  for  Nell  Gwynn  was  probably  due 
in  no  small  degree  to  the  popular  hatred  of  the  Duchess 
of  Portsmouth.  The  latter  was  a  foreigner  and  a  Papist ; 
the  former  was  English-born  and  a  Protestant.  These 
facts  are  duly  insisted  upon  in  a  pasquinade,  entitled,  "A 
Pleasant  Battle  between  Two  Lap-dogs  of  the  Utopian 
Court,^'  which  Mr.  Jesse  quotes.  Part  of  the  argument 
is,  he  says,  as  follows  : — 

*'  The  English  lap-dog  here  does  first  begin 
The  vindication  of  his  lady,  Gwynn : 
The  other,  much  more  Frenchified,  alas, 
Shows  what  his  lady  is,  not  what  she  was." 

The  two  curs,  Tutty  (Nell  Gwynn's)  and  Snap-Short 
(the  Duchess  of  Portsmouth's),  discuss  with  much 
freedom  the  qualities  of  their  respective  mistresses,  who, 
in  the  middle  of  the  contention,  enter  the  room,  and  them- 
selves take  up  the  cudgels  : — 

"  Duchess  op  Portsmouth. — Pray,  Madam,  give  my 
dog  fair  play ;  I  protest  you  hinder  him  with  your  petti- 
coats ;    he  cannot  fasten.      Madam,  fair  play  is  fair  play. 

"  Madam  Gwynn. — Truly,  Madam,  I  thought  I  knew 
as  well  what  belonged  to  dog-fighting  as  your  ladyship : 
but  since  you  pretend  to  instruct  me  in  your  French  dog- 
play,  pray,  Madam,  stand  a  little  farther ;  as  you  respect 
your  own  flesh,  for  my  little  dog  is  mettle  to  the  back^  and 
smells  a  Popish  Miss  at  a  far  greater  distance :  pray, 


54 


THE    MEEKY   MONAECH  5 


Madam,  take  warning,  for  you  stand  on  dangerous 
ground.  Haloo,  haloo,  lialoo  :  lia  brave  Tutty,  ha  brave 
Snap-Short !  A  guinea  on  Tuttj,— two  to  one  on  Tutty : 
done,  quoth  Monsieur ;  begar,  begar,  we  have  lost  near 
tousand  pound. 

"  Tutty  it  Beems  beat  Snap-short,  and  the  bell 
Tutty  bears  home  in  victory  :  farewell ! "  * 

Against  Nell  Gwynn's  many  vices,  her  immorality,  her 
gambling  habits,  her  wild  extravagance,*  her  love  of 
strange  oaths,  we  may  set  that  one  great  virtue  of  Charity, 
which  covers,  as  we  know,  a  multitude  of  sins.  She  was 
generous  by  nature,  and  no  case  of  distress  came  to  her 
knowledge  but  her  hand  was  immediately  open.  The 
story  that  she  persuaded  Charles  to  build  Chelsea  Hospital 
maybe  apocryphal ;  but  at  all  events  it  shows  the  popular 
conviction  of  her  goodness  of  heart.  Poor  men  of  genius 
found  in  her  a  liberal  benefactress,  as  Dryden  and  Butler, 
Otway  and  Nathaniel  Lee  were  ready  to  acknowledge. 

Nell  Gwynn  died  at  her  house  in  Pall  Mall  in  November, 
1687.  She  was  only  thirty-eight  years  of  age.  It  is 
noticeable  that  most  of  the  frail  beauties  and  dashing 
cavaliers  of  the  Merry  Monarch's  saturnalian  reign  passed 
from  the  scene  while  still  comparatively  young.  The 
reason  is  not  far  to  seek:  they  lived  at  high-pressure. 
To  borrow  a  phrase  from  the  sporting  world,  the  pace 
was  too  fast,  and  they  exhausted  their  stock  of  vitality  in 
an  endless  round  of  intrigue,  revelry,  and  dissipation. 
The  immediate  cause  of  Nell  Gwynn's  death  was  apoplexy. 
She  lingered  for  some  weeks  after  the  fii-st  attack,  and 
gave  many  tokens  of  her  sorrow  for  the  failings  and  folHes 

♦  This  may  be  forgiven,  perhaps,  to  one  who  rose  from  indigence  to  the 
enjoyment  of  almost  unlimited  wealth. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


55 


in  which  she  had  wasted  her  feverish  life.  "Her  repen- 
tance in  her  last  hours,"  says  Cibber,  "I  have  been 
unquestionably  informed  appeared  in  all  the  contrite 
symptoms  of  a  Christian  sincerity.*' 

She  was  buried  in  the  church  of  St.   Martin's-in-the- 

* 

Fields,  and  Dr.  Tenison,  the  vicar,  preached  a  funeral 
sermon  in  which  he  warmly  and  frankly  praised  her  kind- 
ness of  heart  and  her  charities,  and  bore  testimony  to  the 
sincerity  of  her  earnestness  and  the  peace  of  her  last 
hours.  This  discourse  was  brought  to  the  notice  of  Queen 
Mary,  at  a  later  period,  in  the  hope  it  would  injure  the 
Doctor's  chances  of  perferment.  But  with  characteristic 
good  sense  the  Qneen  replied  : — "I  have  heard  as  much; 
it  is  a  sign  that  the  poor  unfortunate  woman  died  peni- 
tent ;  for  if  I  can  read  a  man's  heart  through  his  looks, 
had  she  not  made  a  pious  and  Christian  end,  the  Doctor 
would  never  have  been  induced  to  speak  well  of  her." 

Of  the  birth  or  antecedents  of  Mrs.  Hughes  the  his- 
torians of  the  stage  say  nothing.  She  first  came  before 
the  public  in  1663,  after  the  opening  of  the  theatre  in 
Drury  Lane,  and  was  the  first  female  representative  (it  is 
said)  of  Desdemona.  Less  by  her  artistic  than  by  her  per- 
sonal gifts  she  charmed  the  town.  When  the  Court  was 
at  Tunbridge  Wells  in  1668,  drinking  the  waters,  raffling 
for  toys,  lace,  or  gloves,  jesting  with  the  country  girls  in 
the  market,  and  at  evening  assembling  on  the  bowling- 
green,  where  those  who  liked  could  dance  ^'  upon  a  turf 
more  soft  and  smooth  than  the  finest  carpet  in  the  world," 
the  Queen  sent  for  the  players,  and  among  them  came 
Mistress  Hughes,  with  such  a  splendour  of  loveliness  that 
she  took  captive  the  grave  and  reserved  Prince  Kupert. 
Abandoning  his  laboratory,  with  its  alembics,  crucibles. 


56 


THE  MEBRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


57 


and  forges,  he  laid  siege  to  the  proud  beauty,  and  re- 
nounced his  "  chemical  speculations  "  for  the  more  critical 
study  of  a  woman's  varying  moods.  "  The  impertinent 
gipsy,"  says  Count  Hamilton,  with  his  usual  indifference 
to  the  claims  of  virtue,  ''  chose  to  be  attacked  in  form, 
and  proudly  refusing  money,  that  in  the  end,  she  might 
sell  her  favours  at  a  dearer  rate,  she  caused  the  poor 
Prince  to  act  a  part  so  unnatural,  that  he  no  longer 
appeared  like  the  same  person.  The  King  was  greatly 
pleased  with  that  event,  for  which  great  rejoicings  were 
made  at  Tunbridge— '  what  a  strange  condition  of  society 
this  one  fact  reveals  !  ' — but  nobody  was  bold  enough  to 
make  it  the  subject  of  satire,  though  the  same  constraint 
was  not  observed  respecting  the  follies  of  other  person- 


ages. 


j» 


The  Prince  was  supposed  to  have  been  preceded  in  her 
goodwill  by  Sir  Charles  Sedley.  Pepys,  who  had  had 
the  privilege  of  saluting  her  with  a  kiss  in  tlie  green- 
room at  Drury  Lane  in  May,  1668,  describes  her  as  "  the 
pretty  woman  called  Pegg,  that  was  Sir  Charles  Sidley's 
mistress  .  .  a  mighty  pretty  woman,  and  seems,  but  is 
not,  modest."  But  the  curse  of  lewdness  then  rested  upon 
the  stage,  and  scarcely  man  or  woman  escaped  it. 

Margaret  Hughes  was  settled  by  her  princely  "pro- 
tector" in  the  house  at  Hammersmith,  built  by  Sir 
Nicholas  Crispe,  which,  in  1683,  the  Prince  purchased 
from  his  nephew,  and  presented  to  her.  She  resided  in  it 
for  ten  years,  and  then  sold  it  to  one  Timothy  Lanney, 
*^  a  scarlet  dyer."^  She  had  one  daughter  by  the  Prince, 
Euperta,  who  became  the  wife  of  General  Howe. 

*  In  1748  it  was  purchased  by  Bubb  Dodington,  and  in  1792  by  the 
Margrave  of  Brandenburg-Anspach,  who  named  it  "  BrandoTiburg  HouBe." 
In  1820  it  was  tenanted  by  Queen  Caroline,  wife  of  George  IV. 


Among  the  most  prominent  figures  in  Pepys^  picture- 
gallery  is  the  pretty,  sweet-voiced,  lively,  and  clever 
Mistress  Knipp  (or  Knep),  for  whom  our  immortal  diarist 
had  evidently  a  strong  partiality.  As  an  actress  she 
excelled  in  the  parts  of  fine  ladies,  ladies'  maids,  and 
milk  maids ;  she  dressed  with  taste,  acted  with  intelli- 
gence, and  sang  with  natural  skill  and  feeling.  Her 
delivery  of  a  prologue  was  always  a  feat  of  elocution. 
Mrs.  Knipp  was  unfortunate  in  her  husband,  a  horse- 
jockey,  who  ill-treated  and  even  beat  her;  but  she  seems 
never  to  have  forgotten  her  duty  as  a  wife,  though  Mrs. 
Pepys  called  her  "a  wench,"  and  disapproved  very 
strongly  of  her  husband's  attentions  to  the  fascinating 
actress.  Her  career  on  the  stage  extended  from  1664 
to  1678,  during  which  period  she  acted  sixteen  different 
characters. 

The  first  reference  to  her  in  Pepys  is  under  the  date 
"  December  6th,  1665/'  when  he  was  spending  some 
merry  hours  at  the  house  of  his  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Pierce.  "  The  best  company  for  music  I  ever  was  in  in 
my  life/'  he  says,  "  and  wish  I  could  live  and  die  in  it, 
both  for  musique  and  the  face  of  Mrs.  Pierce,  and  my 
wife,  and  Knipp,  who  is  i)retty  enough,  but  the  most 
excellent,  mad-humoured  thing,  and  sings  the  noblest 
that  ever  I  heard  in  my  life.^' 

On  the  following  day  the  same  company  met  at  Pepys' 
house  : — "  Most  excellent  musique  we  had  in  abundance, 
and  a  good  su2)per,  dancing,  and  a  pleasant  scene  of  Mrs. 
Knipp's  rising  sick  from  table,  but  whispered  me  it  was 
for  some  hard  word  or  other  her  husband  gave  her  just 
now  when  she  laughed,  and  was  more  merry  than  ordi- 
nary.    But  we  got   her   in   humour  again,  and  mighty 


58 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


3> 


merrj/'     Slie  seems  to  have  been  of  an  April  nature; 
alternating  between  smiles  and  tears. 

Thenceforward  the  name  of  Mrs.  Knipp  turns  up  con- 
stantly in  the  wonderful  Diarj.  One  day  at  Lord 
Brouncker's  he  meets  his  **  dear  Mrs.  Knipp,"  and  sings 
with  her,  and  hears  her  sing,  admiring  particularly  her 
little  Scotch  song  of  "Barbara  Allen."  Next  day  he  re- 
ceives a  letter  from  her  to  which  she  has  subscribed  ''  Bar- 
bary  Allen  "  as  her  name  ;  and  he  sends  an  answer  to  it, 
signing  himself  **  Dapper  Dicky."  On  another  occasion 
comes  Mrs.  Knipp  to  speak  with  him  privately,  "  com- 
plaining how  like  a  devil  her  husband  treats  her" — ^a 
strange  confidence  for  a  wife  to  repose  in  the  ears  of  her 
husband's  friend ! 

A  curious  illustration  of  the  manners  of  the  time  comes 
out  in  the  entry  for  January  18th,  16G6  :— "  To  Captain 
Cocke's,  where  Mrs.  Williams  was,  and  Mrs.  Knipp.  I 
was  not  heartily  merry,  though  a  glass  of  wine  did  a  little 
cheer  me.  After  dinner  to  the  office  [at  the  Admiralty] . 
Anon  comes  to  me  thither  my  Lord  Brouncker,  Mrs. 
Williams,  and  Mrs.  Knipp.  I  brought  down  my  wife  in 
her  night-gown,  she  not  being  indeed  very  well,  to  the 
office  to  them.  My  wife  and  I  anon  and  Mercer,  by 
coach,  to  Pierce's,  when  mighty  merry,  and  sing  and 
dance  with  great  pleasure ;  and  I  danced,  who  never  did 
in  company  in  my  life."  This  was  at  a  time  when  the 
Plague  was  gatliering  up  its  last  harvest  of  victims  in  the 
Metropolis,  "  the  deaths  being  now  but  79  "  (in  the  week) 
says  Pepys. 

We  pass  on  to  February  23rd :— "  Comes  Mrs.  Knipp 
to  see  my  wife,  and  I  spent  all  the  night  talking  with  this 
baggage,  and  teaching  her  my  song  of  *  Beauty,  retire,' 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


59 


which  she  sings  and  makes  go  most  rarely,  and  a  very 
fine  song  it  seems  to  be.  She  also  entertained  me  with 
repeating  many  of  her  own  and  others'  parts  of  the  play- 
house, which  she  do  most  excellently ;  and  tells  me  the 
whole  practices  of  the  play-house  and  players,  and  is  in 
every  respect  most  excellent  company." 

Mrs.  Knipp,  indeed,  can  no  more  be  kept  out  of  Mr. 
Pepys's  written  confidences,  than  "the  head  of  Kinir 
Charles  I."  out  of  the  speeches  of  Mr.  Dick.  On  the 
20th,  Mrs.  Knipp  dines  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pepys,  and 
mighty  pleasant  company  she  is,  so  that  the  careful 
Pepys  actually  gives  his  wife  20s.  "to  lay  out  on  Knipp." 
She  is  the  fortunate  recipient  of  six  pairs  of  gloves  on 
Valentine's  Day.  On  the  9th  of  March  he  and  Mrs. 
Pierce  and  the  charming  actress  set  out  to  dine  at  Chelsea, 
but  are  frightened  back  by  a  report  that  the  inn  there  was 
"  shut  up  of  the  plague."  On  the  9th  of  May  he  ac- 
companies them  to  Cornhill ;  on  his  return  finds  his  wife 
"  mightily  vexed  at  his  being  abroad  with  other  women  " 
(as  she  had  some  right  to  be),  so  that  when  they  were 
gone  she  called  them  names,  which  offended  Mr.  Pepys' 
sense  of  propriety.  On  the  6th  of  August  we  have  further 
evidence  of  Mrs.  Pepys' not  unreasonable  displeasure:  — 
"  After  dinner,  in  comes  Mrs.  Knipp,  and  I  sat  and  talked 
with  her.  .  ,  I  very  pleasant  to  her ;  but  perceive  my  wife 
hath  no  great  pleasure  in  her  being  here.  However,  we 
talked  and  sang,  and  were  very  pleasant.  By  and  by 
comes  Mr.  Pierce  and  his  wife.  .  .  Knipp  and  I  sang, 
and  then  I  offered  to  carry  them  home,  and  to  take  my 
wife  with  me,  but  she  would  not  go  ;  so  I  with  them  leav- 
ing my  wife  in  a  very  ill  humour.  However,  I  would  not 
be  removed  from  my  civility  to  them,  but  sent  for  a  coach, 


•60 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


61 


and  went  with  them  ;  and  in  our  way,  Knipp  saying  that 
she  came  out  of  doors  without  a  dinner  to  us,  I  took  them 
to  Old  Fish  Street,  to  the  very  house  and  woman  where  I 
kept  my  wedding  dinner,  where  I  never  was  since,  and 
then  I  did  give  them  a  jole  of  salmon,  and  what  else  was 
to  be  had.  And  here  we  talked  of  the  ill-hum  onr  of  my 
wife,  which  I  did  excuse  as  much  as  I  could,  and  they 
seemed  to  admit  of  it,  but  did  both  confess  they  wondered 
at  it.  ...  I  set  them  both  at  home,  Knipp  at  her  house, 
her  husband  being  at  the  door ;  and  glad  she  was  to  be 
found  to  have  stayed  out  so  long  with  me  and  Mrs.  Pierce, 
and  none  else.  Home,  and  then  find  my  wife  mightily 
out  of  order,  and  reproaching  Mrs.  Pierce  and  Knipp  as 
wenches,  and  I  know  not  what.  But  I  did  give  her  no 
words  to  ofEend  her,  and  quietly  let  all  pass." 

Mrs.  Knipp  does  not  reappear  in  the  Diary  until 
October  25th,  when  Pepys  notes  that  he  met  her  at  Mrs. 
Williams's,  and  "  was  glad  to  see  the  jade."  His  wife's 
"  ill-humour,"  no  doubt,  had  something  to  do  with  her 
long  absence.  We  may  assume,  however,  that  by  this 
time  Mrs.  Pepys  had  got  over  it,  since  she  accompanied 
Knipp  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pierce  to  the  new  playhouse  at 
Whitehall.  In  November  Mr  Pepys  goes  to  *' Km'pp's 
lodgings,  whom  I  find,"  he  says,  "  not  ready  to  go  home 
with  me,  and  then  staid  reading  of  Waller's  verses  while 
she  finished  dressing,  her  husband  being  by.  Her  lodging 
very  mean,  and  the  condition  she  lives  in ;  yet  makes  a 
show  without  doors,  God  bless  us  !  " 

One  of  the  saddest  stories  in  Count  Grammont's  "  Me- 
moirs "—a  book  which,  from  the  moralist's  point  of  view, 
is  full  of  melancholy  stories— is  that  of  which  Mrs.  Daven- 
port, the  "  Roxalana  "  of  Sir  William  Davenant's  "  Siege 


of  Rhodes"  was  the  heroine.  Count  Hamilton  tells  it 
with  more  feeling  than  he  exhibits  on  any  other  occa- 
sion : — 

"  The  Earl  of  Oxford  (Aubrey  de  Vere,  20th  Earl,  and 
the  last  of  his  house  who  held  the  title)  fell  in  love  with 
a  handsome,  graceful  actress   belonging   to   the  Duke's 
Theatre,  who   performed  to  perfection,  particularly  the 
part  of  Roxana,  in  a  very  fashionable  new  play,  inasmuch 
that  she  ever  after  retained  that  name  :  this  creature  being 
both  very  virtuous,  and  very  modest,  or,  if  you  please, 
wonderfully  obstinate,  proudly  rejected  his  addresses  and 
presents.     This  resistance  influenced  his  passion  ;  he  had 
recourse  to  invectives,  and  even  to  spells  ;  but  all  in  vain. 
This  disappointment  had  such  effect  upon  him  that  he 
could  neither  eat  nor  drink  ;  this  did  not  signify  to  him  ; 
but  his  passion  at  length  became  so  violent  that  he  could 
neither  play  nor   smoke.      In   this   extremity  love   had 
recourse   to   Hymen  :   the  Earl   of    Oxford,   one  of  the 
first  peers  of  the  realm,  is,  you  know,  a  very  handsome 
man ;  he  is   of  the  order   of  the  Garter,  which    greatly 
adds   to   an   air    naturally    noble.     In   short,  from  his 
outward  appearance,  you    would  suppose  he  was  really 
possessed  of  some  sense  ;   but  as  soon  as  ever  you  hear 
him  speak  you  are  perfectly  convinced  of  the  contrary. 
This  passionate  lover  presented  her  with  a  promise  of 
marriage,  in  due  form,  signed  with  his  own  hand  ;  she 
would  not,  however,  rely  upon  this  ;  but  the  next  day  she 
thought  there  could  be  no  danger,  when  she  and  himself 
came   to   her  lodgings,   attended   by    a   clergyman,   and 
another  man   for  a  witness  :    the   marriage  was   accord- 
ingly solemnized  with  all  due  ceremonies  in  the  presence 
of  one  of  her  fellow-players,  who  attended  as  a  witness  oii 


62 


THE    MEEEY   MONARCH; 


her  part.  Tou  will  suppose,  perhaps,  that  the  new  countess 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  appear  at  court  according  to  her 
rank,  and  to  display  the  EarFs  arms  upon  her  carriage. 
This  was  far  from  being  the  case.  When  examination  was 
made  concerning  the  marriage  it  was  found  to  be  a  mere 
deception  :  it  appeared  that  the  pretended  priest  was  one 
of  my  Earl's  trumpeters,  and  the  witness  his  kettle- 
drummer.  The  parson  and  his  companion  never  appeared 
after  the  ceremony  was  over ;  and  as  for  the  other  witness, 
they  endeavoured  to  persuade  her  that  the  Sultana  Roxana 
might  have  supposed,  in  some  part  or  other  of  a  play,  that 
she  was  really  married.  It  was  all  to  no  purpose  that  the 
poor  creature  claimed  the  protection  of  the  laws  of  God 
and  man,  both  which  were  violated  and  abused,  as  well  as 
herself,  by  this  infamous  imposition ;  in  vain  did  she  throw 
herself  at  the  King's  feet  to  demand  justice ;  she  had  only 
to  rise  up  again  without  redress ;  and  happy  might  she 
think  herself  to  receive  an  annuity  of  one  thousand  crowns, 
and  to  resume  the  name  of  Roxana  instead  of  Countess  of 

Oxford." 

It  seems,  however,  to  have  been  through  the  King's 
interposition  that  "  Lord  Oxford's  Miss/'  as  Evelyn  calls 
her,  obtained  her  annuity  (£300).  In  due  time  she 
recovered  her  spirits,  and  Pepys  records  that  at  the  play 
he  saw  "  the  old  Roxalan  in  the  chief  box,  in  a  velvet 
gown,  as  the  fashion  is,  and  very  handsome,  at  which  I 

was  glad." 

Mary  Davis,  or  Davies,  reported  to  be  the  natural 
daughter  of  Charles  Howard,  second  Earl  of  Berkshire, 
though  some  authorities  claim  for  her  a  more  honourable 
origin  as  the  lawful  daughter  of  a  blacksmith,  appeared  at 
the  Duke's  Theatre  early  in  1667,  and  by  her  good  looks. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UKDEK  CHARLES  II.  63 

graceful  dancing,  and  fine  voice  soon  (and  by  no  means 
reluctantly)  attracted  the  attention  of  the  King,  whose 
conquest  she  completed  by  her  admirable  singing— in  the 
character  of  Celania,  in  "  The  Mad  Shepherdess  '"'—of  the 
old  song,  ''  My  lodging  is  on  the  cold  ground."  We  will 
hope  that  Fepys  romances  when  he  declares  that  her  own 
flither  acted  the  part  of  Pandar.  The  King  caused  a  house 
to  be  furnished  for  her  in  Suffolk  Street,  and  presented 
her  with  a  ring  worth  £700.  Pepys  chanced,  on  one 
occasion,  to  be  passing  through  the  street  as  the  King's 
mistress  was  stepping  into  her  coach,  and  a  "mighty 
fine  coach  "  it  was,  he  says. 

The  rise  of  this  new  favourite,  who  presumed  not  a 
little  upon  her  scandalous  prosperity,  was  very  unwelcome 
at  Court.     When  she  was  to  dance  a  jig  in  the  presence  of 
the  enamoured  sovereign,  the  Queen,  we  are  told,  retired 
hastily,  as  if  unwilling  to  be  publicly  insulted.     The  im- 
perious Duchess  of  Cleveland  was  unable  to  conceal  her 
indignation.     On  the  authority  of  one  of  the  ladies  of  the 
Court,  Pepys  relates  that  during  some  private  theatricals 
at  Whitehall  the  King's  eyes  were  fixed  so  constantly  on 
the  charming  Moll  that  the  angry  Duchess  was  "  in  the 
sulks  ^'  during  the  whole  of  the  play.     On  another  occa- 
sion, when  Pepys  was  at  the  theatre,  the  King,  throughout 
the  evening,  kept  his  gaze  at  a  particular  box,  where  shone 
the    temporary  loadstar  of   his  fickle  affections.      The 
Duchess  of  Cleveland  lifted  her  eyes  to  discover  the  object 
of  the  King's  demonstrative  regard,  and  when  she  per- 
ceived who  it  was,  broke  out  into  such  a  passion  that  "  she 
looked  like  fire.'' 

Of  the  later  history  of  Mary  Davis  nothing  is  known. 
She  had  a  daughter  by  the  King  in  1673,  who  received 


64 


THE   MERKT   MONAKCH  ; 


the  name  of  Mary  Tudor,  and  in  1687  married  the  second 
Earl  of  Derwentwater.     Their   son  was  the  brave  and 
chivalrous  young  nobleman   who   lost   his   head  for  his 
share  in  the  Rebellion  of  1715.     Thus,  the  grandson  of 
Charles  II.  became  the  victim  of  his  loyalty  to  the  royal 
house  with  which  he  was  himself  by  blood  connected. 
Before  his  death  the  Duke  of  Richmond,  son  of  Charles 
n.  by  Louise  de  la  Querouaille,  was  requested  to  present 
to  the  Lords  a  memorial  on  behalf  of  the  young  Earl,  his 
kinsman.     He  presented  the  memorial,  but  with  astound- 
ing inhumanity    expressed  his    earnest  hope  that  their 
lordships  would   not  suffer  themselves  to  be  influenced 

About  the  time  that  Moll  Davis  left  the  stage  a  bright 
particular  star  rose  upon  its  horizon  in  the  person  of  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Barry,  the  original  « Belvidera "  of  Otway's 
"Venice   Pi-eserved,"    and    the    "Zara"   of   Congreve's 

"Mourning  Bride." 

Elizabeth  Barry  was  the  daughter  of  Robert  Barry,  a 
loyal  barrister,  who,  in  the  Civil  War,  raised  a  regiment 
for  the  King,  and  was  rewarded  with  the  rank  of  Colonel. 
He  fell  into  great  poverty  during  the  Protectorate,  and 
left  his  daughter  (who  was  bom  in  1658)  nothing  but  his 
honourable  name.      She  found  a  friend  in  Sir  William 
Davenant,  who,  struck  by  her  beauty  and  vivacity,  sought 
to  train  her  for  the  stage,  but  failed  to  awaken  the  dormant 
talent.     Thrice   she  was  rejected   by  the   managers   as 
possessing  none  of  the  qualifications  of  an  actress.     Such 
however,  was  not  the  opinion  of  Rochester,  who  lodged 
her  in  his  house  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and  with  infinite 
skill  and  patience  educated  her  for  her  profession.     He 
made  her  repeat  every  sentence  of  her  author  until  she 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  11,  65 

fully  understood  its  meaning,  and  could  render  it  with 
suitable  expression.    The  management  of  the  voice,  the 
employment  of   appropriate  gesture,  the   assumption  of 
graceful  attitudes;    he  neglected    nothing   which   could 
render  her  proficiency  indisputable ;  and  to  accustom  her 
to  the  stage  he  superintended  thirty  rehearsals,  twelve  of 
which  were  "  dress  rehearsals  "  of  each  of  the  characters 
she  was  to  represent.    In  all  these  pains  he  was  actuated 
by  his  love  of  the  charming  young  actress,  who,  to  judge 
from  his  letters,  exercised  a  considerable  influence  over 
him  to  the  very  end  of  his  career. 

About  1671  she  appeared  on  the  stage,  but  failed  to 
captivate  the  fancy  of  her  audience,  until  she  enacted 
Isabella,  the   Hungarian   Queen,  in   "Mustapha,"   Lord 
Brooke's  once-famous  tragedy.     Thenceforward  her  pro- 
gress was  sure,  if  slow;  and,  in  1680,  she  placed  herself 
at  the  head  of  her  profession  by  her  briUiant  performance 
of  Monimia,  in  Otway's  tragedy  of  "  The  Orphan ;  or,  The 
Unhappy  Marriage."       This  was  the  nineteenth  of'  her 
original  characters ;  but  the  first  with  which  she  succeeded 
in  really  identifying  herself.     In  1682,  all  London  flocked 
to  see  her  Belvidera  in  Otway's  finest  drama,  and  to  be 
moved  to  tears   by  the  intensity  of   her  pathos.      Her 
genius  was  so  true  and  profound  that  she  could  take  the 
skeleton- character  of  the  dramatist,  and  endue  it  with 
flesh  and  blood— a  task  she  performed  for  Cassandra  in 
Dryden's    bombastic  tragedy    of   "Cleomenes"    (1692). 
"  Mrs.  Barry,"  says  the  poet  in  his  preface,  "  always  ex- 
cellent, has  in  this  tragedy  excelled  herself,  and  gained 
a  reputation  beyond  any  woman  I  have  ever  seen  in  the 
theatre."      "In   characters   of  greatness,"   says  CoUey 
Cibber,  «  Mrs.  Barry  had  a  presence  of  elevated  dignity ; 

VOL.    II.  „ 


f 


66 


THE  MEEBT  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDEB  CHARLES  II. 


67 


her  mien  and  motion  superb,  and  gracefully  majestic ;  her 
voice  full,  clear,  and  strong;  so  tliat  no  violence  of  passion 
4»ould  be  too  mucb  for  ber ;  and  when  distress  or  tender- 
ness possessed  ber,  she  subsided  into  the  most  affecting 
melody  and  softness.    In  the  art  of  exciting  pity,  she 
had  a  power  beyond  all  the  actresses  I  have  yet  seen,  or 
what  your  imagination  can  conceive.    In  scenes  of  anger, 
defiance,  or  resentment,  while  she  was  impetuous   and 
terrible,  she  poured  out  the  sentiment  with  an  enchanting 
harmony;  and  it  was  this  particular  excellence  for  which 
Dryden  made  her  the  above-recited  compliment,  upon  her 
acting  Cassandra  in  his  Cleomenes.     She  was  the  first 
person  whose  merit  was  distinguished  by  the  indulgence 
of  having  an  annual  benefit  play,  which  was  granted  to 
her  alone  in  King  James's  time,  and  which  did  not  become 
common  to  others  till  the  division  of  this  company,  after 
the  death  of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary." 

Another  of  her  finest  impersonations  was  Isabella  in 
Southern's  drama  of  "The  Fatal  Marriage  "  (1694).     In 
1697  she  gave  fresh  proof  of  her  versatility  by  enacting 
the  two  opposite  characters  of  Lady  Brute  in  Vanburgh's 
"  Provoked  Wife  "  and  Zara  in  Congreve's  "  Mourning 
Bride."     In  1703  she  enacted  Calista  in  Rowe's  tragedy 
of  "  The  Fair  Penitent '^  (founded  on  " The  Fatal  Dowry" 
of  Massinger)  ;  and  in  1705,  Clarissa,  in  Sir  John  Van- 
burgh^s  comedy  of   ''The  Confederacy.^'       About  three 
years  later,  ill-health  compelled  her  to  retire  from  the 
atacre  •  her  last  new  character  of  importance  being  Phcedra, 
in  Edmund  Smith's  tragedy  of  that  name  (1708).     She 
returned,  however,  for  one  night,  in  the  following  year, 
to  play  with  Mrs.  BracegirJle ;  and  she  performed  Mrs. 
Frail,  in  Congreve's  "  Love  for  Love,"  on  the  occasion 


f> 


of  Betterton's  benefit.  Her  last  years  were  spent  at  Acton 
in  the  enjoyment  of  the  wealth  she  had  gained  by  her 
genius  and  preserved  by  her  prudence ;  and  she  died  of 
fever,*  "greatly  respected,  "-^in  her  case  no  mere  form  of 
words— on  the  7th  of  November,  1713.  She  lies  buried 
in  Acton  churchyard. 

Two  of  her  speeches,  or  phrases,  which  always  com- 
manded the  applause  of  her  admiring  audiences,  have 
been   handed  down    to   us:     "Ah,   poor    Castalio! 


m 
Otway's  "  Orphan,"  and  "  What  mean  my  grieving  sub- 
jects ? ''  in  Banks's  "  Unhappy  Favourite.^'  In  the  latter 
play  she  represented  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  with  so  much 
dignity  that  Mary  of  Modena,  the  wife  of  James  IL,  as  a 
mark  of  her  approbation,  presented  her  with  the  dress  she 
had  worn  upon  her  marriage. 

The  charm  of  Mrs.  Barry's  beauty  lay  in  its  expression. 
Her  eyes  and  forehead  were  fine,  but  it  was  "  the  mind, 
the  music  breathing  o'er  the  face"  that  rivetted  the  gaze 
of  the  beholder.  Her  rich  dark  hair,  drawn  back  from 
her  brow,  revealed  its  gracious  curve.  Her  mouth  was 
mobile  and  full  of  expression,  though,  according  to  Tony 
Aston,  it  opened  a  little  too  much  on  the  right  side.  She 
was  not  below  the  average  height,  and  her  figure  was 
plump  and  well-made. 

Her  powers  were  seen  to  the  best  advantage  in  tragedy; 

but  her   comic   characters   were   distinguished    by  their 

freedom  and  vivacity.     "In  comedy,'"  says  Tony  Aston, 

"she  was  alert,  easy,  and  genteel,  pleasant  in  her  face 

and  action,  filling  the  stage  with  variety   of    gesture." 

*  Gibber  says  that  during  her  delirium,  she  dropped  into  blank  verse  sav- 
inp— m  remembrance,  apparently,  of  Queen  Anne's  creation  in  1711  of 
twelve  peers  at  once : —  »  .  » 

*'  Ah,  ah  !  and  so  they  make  us  lords  by  dozens." 


68 


THE  MEEKY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  IT. 


69 


t 


She  yielded  so  entirely  to  the  emotions  she  was  called 
upon  to  depict,  that  in  stage  dialogues  she  often  turned 
pale  or  flushed  red,  as  varying  passions  prompted. 

In  Nathaniel  Lee's  "Eival  Queens;  or,  The  Death  of 
Alexander  the  Great,"  she,  on  one  occasion,  played  Eoxana 
to  Mrs.  Boutell's  Statira.     A  dispute  arose  between  the 
ladies  as  to  the  wearing  of  a  certain  veil,  which  the  latter 
affirmed  to  belong  to  her  part ;  and  the  stage-manager 
decided  in  her  favour.    Both  actresses  went  upon  the 
stage  with  their  passions  strongly  excited,  and  probably 
the  wrath  and  jealousy  with  which  the  dramatist  endows 
the  rival  queens  were  never  more  faithfully  represented. 
When,  in  the  gardens  of  Semiramis,  Eoxana  seizes  her 
hated  enemy,  and  a  final  struggle  takes  place,  Mrs.  Barry 
exclaiming,  "  Die,  sorceress,  die !  and  all  my  wrongs  die 
vrith    thee!"    drove   her  keen    dagger    right  through 
Statira's  steel-bound  stays.      A   slight  wound  was  the 
result  •  and  a  considerable  commotion.    When  the  matter 
came  to  be  investigated,  Mrs.  Barry  protested  that  she 
had  been  carried  away  by  the  excitement  of  the  scene ; 
but  there  were  not  wanting  censorious  tongues  to  declare 
that  she  enjoyed  the  punishment  she  had  inflicted  on  a 

""to  dwell  on  the  record  of  Mrs.  Barry's  frailties  would 
be  humiliating  and  unprofitable.  Like  most  of  the 
actresses  of  her  time,  she  lived  a  life  of  unbridled  indul- 
gence, which  the  contemporary  wits  of  the  coffee-houses 
knew  how  to  paint  in  the  darkest  colours.  She  had  a 
daughter  by  Sir  George  Etherege,  who  died  before  her 
mother.  Tom  Brown  censures  her  averice ;  others  speak 
of  her  as  cold  and  heartless;  but  the  woman  to  whom  poor 
Otway  addressed  the  six  pathetic  letters  preserved  m  his 


published    works   could   not    have  been   witbout    some 
singular  charm. 

As  Mrs.  Betterton  does  not  figure  in  the  Chroniques 
Scandaleuses  of  the  Merry  Monarch's  reign,  we  know  but 
little  of  her  history  ;  but  for  thirty  years  she  was  on  the 
stage,  and  all  that  time  she  ranked  amongst  its  greatest 
ornaments.     As  Miss  Saunderson  she  won  the  heart  and 
hand  of  the  great  actor,  Thomas  Betterton ;  and  it  is  on 
record  that  she  played  Ophelia  to  his  Hamlet,  during  the 
period  of  his  courtship,  and  that  the    audience    dwelt 
with  particular  interest  on  their  dramatic  love-passages, 
knowing  that  the  two  were  shortly  to  be  united  in  wedlock. 
Their  married  life  was  without  a  cloud ;  as  tlieir  profes- 
sional careers  were  without  a  failure.     So  profound  was 
Mrs.  Betterton's  love  for  her  noble  husband,  that  at  his 
death,  in  1710,  she  lost  her  reason,  and  survived  him  only 
eighteen  months. 

Pepys  always  refers  to  this  charming  actress  as  lanthe, 
from  the  part  she  played  in  Davenant's  "Siege  of 
Ehodes.^'  His  numerous  allusions  evidence  the  esteem 
in  which  she  was  held  by  the  public.  It  was  due  to  her 
artistic  merits  as  well  as  to  her  unblemished  private 
character  that  she  was  chosen,  in  1674,  to  instruct  the 
Princesses  Mary  and  Anne  in  elocution.  Afterwards,  she 
was  engaged  to  teach  the  Princess  Anne  the  part  of 
Semandra  in  Lee's  noisy  tragedy  of  "  Mithridates." 
When  Betterton  died,  Queen  Anne  settled  on  his  widow  a 
pension  of  £500  a  year. 

Cibber  says—"  She  was  so  great  a  mistress  of  Nature, 
that  even  Mrs.  Barry,  who  acted  Lady  Macbeth  after  her, 
could  not  in  that  part,  with  all  her  superior  strength  and 
melody  of  voice,  throw  out  those  quick  and  careless  strokes 


70 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


71 


of  terror,  from  the  disorder  of  a  guilty  mind,  which  the 
other  gave  us,  with  a  facility  in  her  manner  that  rendered 
them  at  once  tremendous  and  delightful/' 

In  Novemher,  1685,  when  the  United  Company,  com- 
prising the  "  best  talent "  both  of  Davenant  and  Killi- 
grew's  old  companies,  opened  their  season  at  Drury  Lane 
Theatre,  among  the  leading  ladies,  and  second  only  to 
Mrs.  Barry,  were  Mrs.  Mountfort,  and  Mrs.  Bracegirdle. 

Mrs.  Mountfort  was  the  soul  of  comedy ;  and  in  Gibber's 
admirable  portrait-gallery  he  devotes  to  this  charming 
actress  one   of   his   most  finished   sketches.       She   was 
mistress,  he  says,  of  more  variety  of  humour  than  he  had 
ever  known  in  any  one  actress.     "  This  variety/'  he  con- 
tinues, *'  was  attended  with  an  equal  vivacity,  which  made 
her  excellent  in  characters  extremely  difficult.     As  she 
was  naturally  a  pleasant  mimic,  she  had  the  skill  to  make 
that  talent  useful  on  the  stage.     When  the  elocution  is 
round,  distinct,  voluble,  and  various,  as  Mrs.  Mountfort's 
was,  the  mimic  there  is  a  great  assistance  to  the  actor. 
Nothing,  though  ever  so  barren,  if  within  the  bounds  of 
nature,   could  be  flat  in   her  hands.       She    gave  many 
brightening  touches  to  characters  but  coldly  written,  and 
often  made  an  author  vain  of  his  work,  that,  in  itself, 
had  but  little  merit.      She  was  so  fond  of  humour,  in 
what  part  soever  to  be  found,  that  she  would  make  no 
scruple  of  defacing  her  fair  face  to  come  heartily  into  it, 
for  when  she  was  eminent  in  several  desirable  characters 
of  wit  and  humour,  in   higher  life,  she  would  be  in  as 
much  fancy,  when  descending  into  the  antiquated  Abigail 
of  Fletcher,  as  when  triumphing  in  all  the  airs  and  vain 
graces  of  a  fine  lady  ;  a  merit  that  few  actors  care  for. 
In  a  play  of  D'Urfey's  now  forgotten,  called  '  The  Western 
Lass,'  which  part  she  acted,  she  transformed  her  whole 


being— body,  shape,  voice,  language,  look  and  features— 
into  almost  another  animal,  with  a  strong  Devonshire 
dialect,  a  broad  laughing  voice,  a  poking  head,  round 
shoulders,  an  unconceiviug  eye,  and  the  most  bedizening 
dawdy  dress  that  ever  covered  the  untrained  limbs  of  a 
Joan  trot.      To  have  seen    her  here,   you    would    have 
thought  it  impossible  that  the  same  could  ever  have  been 
removed  to,  what  was  as  easy  to  her,  the  gay,  the  lively, 
and  the  desirable.     Nor  was  her  humour  Hmited  to  her 
sex,  for  while  her  shape  permitted,  she  was  a  more  adroit, 
pretty  fellow  than  is  usually  seen  upon  the  stage.     Her 
easy  air,  action,  mien,  and  gesture,  quite  changed  from 
the  coif  to  the  cocked-hat  and  cavalier  in  fashion.    People 
were  so  fond  of  seeing  her  a  man  that  when  the  part  of 
Bayes,  in  ^  The  Rehearsal/  had  for  some  time  lain  dor- 
mant, she  was  desired  to  take  it  up,  which  I  have  seen  her 
act  with  all  the  true  coxcomly  spirit  and  humour  that 
the  sufficiency  of  the  character  required. 

"But  what  found  most  employment  for  her  whole 
various  excellence  at  once  was  the  part  of  Melantha,  in 
*  Marriage  a  la  Mode.'*  Melantha  is  as  finished  an  im- 
pertinent as  ever  fluttered  in  a  drawing-room,  and  seems 
to  contain  the  most  complete  system  of  female  foppery 
that  could  possibly  be  crowded  into  the  tortured  form  of 
a  fine  lady.  The  language,  dress,  motion,  manners,  soul, 
and  body,  are  in  a  continual  hurry  to  be  something  more 
than  is  necessary  or  commendable.  The  first  ridiculous 
airs  that  break  from  her  are  upon  a  gallant,  never  seen 
before,  who  delivers  her  a  letter  from  her  father,  recom- 
mending him  to  her  good  graces  as  an  honourable  lover. 
Here,  now,  one  would  think  that  she  might  naturally  show 
a  little  of    the  sex's  decent  reserve,  though  never  so 

*  Dryden'a  comedy,  produced  in  1672. 


fi 


72 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


sligMy  covered.    No,  sir !  not  a  tittle  of  it  1     Modesty  is 
the  virtue  of  a  poor-souled  country  gentlewoman.     She  is 
too  much  a  Court  lady  to  be  under  so  vulgar  a  confusion. 
She  reads  the  letter,  therefore,  with  a  careless,  dropping 
lip,  and  an  erected  brow,  humming  it  hastily  over,  as  if 
she  were  impatient  to  out  go  her  father's  commands,  by 
making  a  complete  conquest  of  him  at  once ;  and  that  the 
letter    might    not    embarrass    her    attack,    crack!    she 
crumbles  it  at  once  into  her  palm,  and  pours  upon  him 
her  whole  artillery  of  airs,  eyes,  and  motion.     Down  goes 
her  dainty,  diving  body  to  the  ground,  as  if  she  were 
sinking     under     the    conscious      load     of      her     own 
attractions;     then     launches     into     a     flood    of     fine 
language     and     compliment,    still     playing    her    chest 
forward   in    fifty   falls    and  risings,  like    a  swan  upon 
waving    water;    and,   to    complete    her    impertinence, 
she  is  so  rapidly  fond  of  her  own  wit  that  she  will  not 
give  her  lover  leave  to  praise  it.     Silent  assenting  bows, 
and  vain  endeavours  to  speak,  are  all  the  share  of  the  con- 
versation he  is  admitted  to,  which  at  last  he  is  relieved 
from,  by  her  engagement  to  half  a  score  visits,  which  she 
swims  from  him  to  make,  with  a  promise  to  return  in  a 

twinkling." 

She  made  her  d^but  on  the  stage  as  Miss  Percival,  and 
enacted  the  character  of  Nell  in  "  The  Devil  to  Pay." 
After  her  marriage  to  William  Mountfort,  her  best 
characters  were  Melantha,  already  spoken  of,  and 
Belinda  in  Congreve's  "  Old  Bachelor."  Mountfort,  a 
comedian  of  brilliant  merit,  who  played  the  airy,  graceful, 
ardent  lover  as  to  the  manner  born,  was  slain  by  Captain 
HiU  in  1692  ;  and  his  widow  soon  afterwards  married  the 
actor  Verbruggen.     She  died  in  1703. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


73 


Mrs.  Bracegirdle,  like  Mrs.  Mountfort,  belongs  to  the 
stage  of  Charles  II.'s  reign  only  as  a  debutante.  Her 
fame  was  won  in  later  years.  Yet  our  sketches  will 
hardly  be  complete  if  they  do  not  include  this  admirable 
actress,  who^  unlike  most  of  her  contemporaries,  was  also 
a  virtuous  woman.  S  he  was  the  ornament  of  the  stage 
and  the  delight  of  the  public  from  1680  to  1707,  when  she 
gave  way  to  the  rising  star  of  Mrs.  Oldfield.  "Never," 
says  Cibber,  "  was  any  woman  in  such  general  favour  of 
the  spectators.  .  .  .  She  was  the  darling  of  the  theatre ; 
for  it  will  be  no  extravagant  thing  to  say,  scarce  an 
audience  saw  her  that  were  less  than  half  of  them  lovers, 
without  a  suspected  favourite  among  them ;  and  though 
she  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  universal  passion,  and 
under  the  highest  temptations,  her  constancy  in  resisting 
them  served  but  to  increase  her  admirers.  It  was  even 
the  fashion  among  the  gay  and  young  to  have  a  taste  or 
tendre  for  Mrs,  Bracegirdle."  It  was  the  fashion,  also, 
among  the  old.  One  day  the  Earl  of  Burlington  sent  her 
a  present  of  some  fine  old  china.  She  told  the  servant  he 
had  made  a  mistake ;  that  it  was  true  the  letter  was  for 
her,  but  the  china  was  for  his  lady,  to  whom  she  bade 
him  carry  it.  "  Lord  !  "  exclaims  Walpole, ''  the  Countess 
was  so  full  of  gratitude  when  her  husband  came  home  to 
dinner."  Lord  Lovelace  was  another  of  her  suitors,  and 
as  unsuccessful  as  the  rest.  To  the  number  and  variety 
of  the  love-tokens  poured  in  upon  her  Dryden  alludes,  in 
one  of  his  epilogues  written  for  her : — 

"  I  have  had  to-day  a  dozen  billets-doux 
From  fops,  and  wits,  and  cits,  and  Bow  Street  beaux  : 
Some  from  Whitehall,  but  from  the  Temple  more : 
A  Covent  Garden  porter  brought  me  four.** 

Congreve  also  entered  the  lists,  and  there  is  no  doubt 


74 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


his  addresses  were  welcome  to  lier  ;  but  she  could  not  he 
induced  to  forfeit  her  self-respect.  This  he  himself 
admits    in    verses    which    we   confess   we     are    almost 

m 

ashamed  to  quote  : — 

•'  Pious  Belinda  goes  to  prayers 

Whene'er  I  ask  the  favour, 
Yet  the  tender  fool's  in  tears 

When  she  thinks  I'd  leave  her. 
Would  I  were  free  from  this  restraint, 

Or  else  had  power  to  win  her ; 
Would  she  could  make  of  me  a  saint. 

Or  I  of  her  a  sinner." 

One  Captain  Eichard  Hill,  a  dissolute  man  about  town, 
fell  so  violently  in  love  with  her  person— he  could  not 
appreciate  her  mind— that  he  resolved  to  carry  her  off  by 
force,  and    persuaded   Lord    Mohun,  who   was    as    wild 
and  wicked   as   himself,  to  assist.       Ascertaining  that, 
with  her  mother  and  brother,  she  was  to  sup  one  evening 
at  the  house  of  a  friend,  Mr.  Page,  in  Prince's  Street, 
Drury    Lane,    they  hired   six   soldiers   for  the   deed   of 
violence,  and  posted  them  near  Mr.  Page's  house.     It  was 
the  9th  of  December,  1692,  and  about  ten  at  night,  as  she 
left  Mr.  Page's,  the  rufSans  pounced  upon  her,  but  she 
screamed  so  loudly,  and  her  brother  and  friend  made  so 
gallant  a  resistance,  that  the  attempt  failed.     An  excited 
crowd  assembled,  and  Lord  Mohun  and  Hill  thought  it 
prudent  to  undertake  to  escort  her  to  her  residence  in 
Howard  Street,  Strand.      Close  at  hand  lived  Mountfort, 
the   actor,   and    Mrs.   Bracegirdle,   overhearing  Captain 
Hill  indulging  in  violent  threats  against  him— from  an 
absurd  suspicion  that  he  was  a  favoured  rival— sent  to 
Mrs.  Mountfort  to  warn  her  husband,  who  was  gone  home, 
to  be  on  his  guard.     The  brilliant  young  cavalier,  nothing 
.alarmed,  came  round   into   Howard   Street  and  saluted 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


75 


Lord  Mohun;  at  the  same  moment  Hill  stepped  up 
behind,  struck  him  on  the  head,  and,  before  he  could 
draw  in  his  defence,  ran  his  sword  through  Mountfort's 
body.  Captain  Hill  fled  to  the  Continent;  but  Lord 
Mohun  was  tried  by  his  peers  for  the  murder,  and 
acquitted  by  three-score  against  fourteen.  He  after- 
wards fell  in  the  fatal  duel  with  the  Duke  of  Hamilton. 

Mrs.  Bracegirdle  retired  from  the  stage  in  1707,  but 
lived  in  the  enjoyment  of  an  inconsiderable  fortune,  the 
•centre  of  a  wide  circle  of  wits  and  men  of  letters,  until 
1 748. 


THE    POETS. 


Milton. 

Herrick. 

Maevell. 

Cowley. 

Waller. 

Sir  W.  Davenant. 

Earl  of  Dorset. 

Earl  of  Eoscommon. 

Earl  of  Eochester. 


Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buck- 
inghamshire. 
Sir  C.  Sedley. 
Sir  John  Denham. 
Thomas  Stanley. 
Sir  W.  Killigrew. 
Anne  Killigrew. 
Samuel  Butler. 
John  Dryden. 


CHAPTER  III. 


THE      POETS. 
MlLTON-^EBRICK  -  MaRVELL  —  Co  WLET  —  WaLLEE— SiR 

W.  Davenant— Earl  of  Dorset— Earl  op  Eos- 
COMMON— Earl  of  Eochester— Sheffield,  Duke 
op  Buckinghamshire— Sir  C.  Sedley— Sir  John 
Denham-Thomas  Stanley^Sir  W.  Killigrew— 
Anne  Killigrew— Samuel  Butler— John  Dryden. 

At  the  Eestoration  Milton  was  in  his  fifty-second  year, 
and  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  men,  not  in  England 
only,  but  in  Europe.  As  yet,  it  is  true,  he  had  not  shown 
the  world  the  full  measure  and  range  of  his  power  as  a 
poet,  and  the  scholars  of  Europe  knew  little  or  nothing 
of  English  poetry ;  but  they  honoured  him  as  a  controt 
versialist  who  had  crossed  swords  successfully  with  one  of 
the  doughtiest  of  Continental  combatants.  In  his  en- 
counter with  Salmasius,  he  had,  by  common  consent, 
brought  that  champion  of  absolute  monarchy  to  his 
knees.  After  reading  the  "  Defensio  pro-Populo  Angli- 
cano,'*  in  which,  with  almost  an  excess  of  strencrth  he 
replied  to  the  "  Defensio  Eegia,"  the  apology  for  Charles 
I.,  Queen  Christina,  of  Sweden,  had  frankly  told  Salmasius 
that  he  was  beaten.      Whereupon  Salmasius,  who  had 


80 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


enjoyed  so  mucli  of  the  Queen's  favour  tliat  she  had  been 
wont  to  light  his  fire  with  her  own  hands  when  she  in- 
dulo-ed  with  him  in  confidential  morning  walks,  declared 
that  the  Swedish  climate  disagreed  with  him,  and  re- 
turned to  France.  "Who  is  this  Milton?"  asked 
Henisius,  the  Dutchman,  of  Isaac  Voss.  The  latter 
replied,  "  I  have  learned  all  about  Milton  from  my  uncle, 
Junius,  who  is  familiar  with  him.  He  tells  me  that  he 
serves  the  Parliament  in  foreign  affairs;  is  skilled  in 
many  languages  ;  is  not,  indeed,  of  noble,  but,  as  they 
say,  of  gentle  birth ;  kindly,  affable,  and  endowed  with 
many  other  virtues."  Who  is  this  Milton?  If  the  ques- 
tion had  been  put  to  his  countrymen  they  might  have 
informed  the  querist  that  he  was  the  second— ranking 
Oliver  Cromwell  as  the  first—great  Englishman  of  his 
time ;  a  man  with  a  powerful  genius  and  a  singular 
loftiness  and  purity  of  thought ;  a  courageous,  resolute, 
and  eloquent  champion  of  civil  and  religious  liberty ;  a 
master  of  English  prose,  which  he  wrote  with  a  stateli- 
ness  that  reflected  the  dignity  of  his  character ;  a  poet  of 
rare  gifts  and  accomplishments,  who,  before  all  other 
English  singers,  had  proved  himself  conscious  of  the 
nobleness  and  sacredness  of  the  poet's  mission. 

Good  and  great  work  Milton  had  already  done ;  but  his 
best  and  greatest  work  belongs  to  the  reign  of  Charles  II., 
and  is  the  distinguishing  glory  of  that  reign.  The 
"Paradise  Lost"  is  one  of  the  world's  half-dozen 
immortal  poems— like  "  The  Iliad,"  and  "  The  JEneid," 
and  the  "Divina  Commedia "— and  the  age  and  the 
country  which  produced  it  have  necessarily  something  to 
be  proud  of.  If  we  have  little  else  to  thank  the  Eestora- 
tion  for,  we  have  to  thank  it,  I  believe,  for  our  great 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  32 

English  epic.     But  for  the  obscurity  and  privacy  to  which 
It  relegated  Milton,  he  might   never  have   enjoyed  the 
leisure,  or  the  self-concentration,  without  which  its  com- 
position would  have  been  impossible.     He  was  thirty-two 
when  he  conceived  the  idea ;   but  he  found  no  time  to 
attempt  its  realization  during  the  stirring  periods  of  the 
Civil  War  and  the  Protectorate.      For  Milton  was  not 
only  a  poet,  but  a  man  of  action.     There  was  nothing  of 
the  recluse  about  him ;    he  did  not  live  for  poetry  alone, 
like  Wordsworth.     His  strong,  deep  sympathies  with  the 
cause  of  human  liberty  and  human  hope  impelled  him  to 
take  an  active  part  in  the  struggle,  and  for  twenty  years 
from  1G41  to  1660,  he  gave  to  public  aifairs  the  resources 
of  his  intellectual  strength  and  opulence.      With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  few  sonnets,  his  muse,  meanwhile,  was  silent 
Those   graceful  Italian  pastorals,  "  L'Allegro  "  and  "  11 
Penseroso,"  were  written  while  he  lingered  in  his  earlier 
manhood  among  the   orchard   blooms   of  Horton.     The 
"Comus,"   which    so    admirably    illustrates    the  "  grave 
purity    of    his    mind,    and    the    beautiful    monody    of 
"Lycidas,"  belong  to  the  year  1637.    In  1639,  the  death 
of  his  friend  Diodati  drew  from  him  his   "Epitaphium 
Damors,"   and   thereafter  he  devoted    his  genius  to  the 
service  of  his  country.     His  wonderful  intellectual  activity 
knew  no  pause  of  weariness ;  it  embraced  the  whole  field 
of  conflict :  Church  Discipline,  Divorce,  the  Freedom  of 
the  Press,  Education,  Civil   Govemment-on  all  these 
various  themes  he  had  much  to  say,  to  which  it  was  good 
for  his  countrymen  to  listen,  and  he  said  it  with  such  a 
strenuousness  and  vehemence  that  they  durst  not  close 
their  ears. 

As  to  his  prose  style,  writers  differ.    «Is  he  truly  a 


VOL.    II, 


a 


82 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


prose  writer  ?  "  says  Taine,  and  lie  adds  :— "  Entangled 
dialectics,  a  heavy  and  awkward  mind  " — who  but  a  French- 
man would  have  used  these  epithets  ?—"  fanatical  and 
furious  rusticity,  an  epic  grandeur  of  sustained  and 
superabundant  images,  the  blast  and  the  recklessness 
of  implacable  and  all-powerful  passion,  the  sublimity 
of  religious  and  logical  exaltation :  we  do  not  recognize 
in  these  features  a  man  bom  to  explain,  pursuade,  and 
prove/'  No  ;  it  was  not  Milton's  business  to  explain  or 
persuade;  he  crushed.  Like  a  shock  of  cavalry,  he 
charged  the  errors  and  sophisms  of  his  time,  and  they 
went  down  before  him.  How  could  he  stop  to  explain 
or  persuade,  when  his  opponents  were  the  minions  of 
Prelacy  and  Absolutism,  the  deadly  foes  of  Freedom? 
You  might  as  well  have  asked  Cromwell's  Ironsides  to 
halt  on  the  field  of  Naseby,  and  reason  with  Eupert 
and  his  cavaliers.  Milton's  prose  is  the  prose  of  a  poet. 
It  is  rich  in  images  and  illustrations;  it  abounds  in 
harmonious  cadences  ;  it  frequently  lapses  into  a  measured 
rhythm.  No  doubt  it  is  sometimes  rugged  and  sometimes 
exuberant;  but  this  ruggedness  is  due  to  his  intense 
earnestness,  and  this  exuberance  to  the  marvellous  wealth 
of  his  resources.  He  has  no  call  to  be  thrifty  like  lesser 
men ;  and  so  the  great  river  of  his  eloquence  rolls  on 
with  copious  force,  carrying  with  it  both  gold  and  mud. 

Is  is  in  the  "  Areopagitica,"  that  noble  plea  for  the 
liberty  of  the  press— which  so  completely  achieved  its 
object  that  in  England,  at  least,  no  serious  efi"ort  has 
since  been  made  to  curb  the  free  expression  of  free 
thought— we  see  Milton's  eloquence  in  its  fullest  majesty. 
The  title  is  borrowed  from  the  "  Areopagitic  "  oration  of 
Isocrates ;  but  nothing  more.     Between  the  calm  grace- 


OR,    ENGLAND    UNDER    CHARLES   II.  33 

fulness  of  the  Greek  orator  aad  the    splendid  fervour  of 
the  Enghsh  author  there  is  not  the  slightest  similaritv. 
The     Areopagitica  "  is  warm  with  Milton's  heart-blood. 
It  kindles  with  the  fire  of  enthusiasm  from  the  first  line 
to  the  last.      The  trumpet-strain  never  falters ;  the  well- 
poised  wings  never  droop  or  weary  in  their  lofty  flight 
Whoever  would   know   of   what   our  English  language' 
IS  capable,  to  what  heights  it  can  reach,  into  how  grand 
an  organ-music   it  can   swell,  let  him  read  the  "  Areo- 
pagitica."    « Though  aU  the  winds  of  doctrine,"   says 
Milton,  '.  were  let  loose  to  play  upon  the  earth,  so  Truth 
be  in  the  field,  we  do  injuriously  by  licensing  and  pro- 
hibitmg  to  misdoubt  her  strength.     Let  her  and  False- 
hood grapple ;    whoever  knew  Truth  put  to  the  worse  in  a 
free  and  open  encounter?    Her  confuting  is  the  best  and 
surest  suppressing.      He  who  hears  what  praying  there  is 
tor  hght  and  clearer  knowledge  to  be  sent  down  amon.^ 
us,  would  think  of  other  matters  to  be  constituted  beyond 
the  discipline  of  Geneva,  framed  and  fabrict  already  to 
our  hands.     Tet  when  the  new  light  which  we  be<.  for 
shines  in  upon  us,  there  be  who  envy,  and  oppose,  if  it 
come  not  first  in  at  their  casements.     What  a  collusion  is 
this,  whereas  we  are  exhorted  by  the  wise  man  to  use 
diligence,  to  seek  for  wMom  as  for  hidden  trca,„res  early 
and  late,  that  another  order   shall  enjoin  us   to   know 
nothing  but  by  statute.     When  a  man  hath  been  labour- 
ing the  hardest  labour  in  the  deep  mines  of  knowled..e 
hath  furnished   out   his    findings    in  all  their   equipa-e' 
drawn  forth   his   reasons   as    it   were  a   battle  ran-ed' 
scattered  and  defeated  all  objections  in  his  way,  calls'out 
his  adversary  into  the  plain,  ofiers  him  the  advantage  of 
wind  and  sun  if  he  please,  only  that  he  may  tiy  the  matter 


84 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


by  dint  of  argument,  for  Ms  opponents  then  to  skulk,  to 
lay  ambushments,  to  keep  a  narrow  bridge  of  licensing 
where  the  challenger  should  pass,  though  it  be  valour 
enough  in  soldiership,  is  but  weakness  and  cowardice 
in  the  wars  of  Truth.  For  who  knows  not  that  Trutli 
is  strong  next  to  the  Almighty;  she  needs  no  policies, 
no  stratagems,  no  licensings  to  make  her  victorious  ;  these 
are  the  shifts  and  defences  that  Error  uses  against  ber 

power." 

Here  is  a  fine  passage  which  none  but  a  poet  could 
have  written : — 

"  Truth,   indeed,  came  once  into   the   world  with  her 
Divine  Master,  and  was  a  perfect  shape,  most  glorious  to 
look  on;  but  when  He  ascended,  and  His  Apostles  after 
Him  were   laid   asleep,   then   straight   arose    a    wicked 
race  of  deceivers,  who,  as  that  story  goes  of  the  Egyptian 
Typhon  with  his  conspirators,  how  they  dealt  with  the 
good  Osiris,  took  the  virgin  Truth,  hewed  her  lovely  form 
into  a  thousand  pieces,  and  scattered  them  to  the  four  winds. 
From  that  time  ever  since,  the  sad  friends  of  Truth,  such 
as  durst   appear,  imitating  the  careful  search  that  Isis 
made  for  the  mangled  body  of  Osiris,  went  up  and  down 
gathering  up  limb  by  limb  still  as  they  could  find  them. 
We  have  not  yet  found  them  all,  lords  and  commons,  nor 
ever  shall  do,  till  her  Master's  second  coming ;  He  shall 
bring  together  every  joint  and  member,  and  shall  mould 
tbem  into  an  immortal  pattern  of  loveliness  and  perfec- 
tion." 

And  this  almost  lyrical  outburst  in  praise  of  Books  : — 

"  Books  are  not  absolutely  dead  things,  but  do  contain 

a  progeny  of  life  in  them  to  be  as  active  as  that  soul 

was  whose  progeny  they  are;  nay,  they  do  preserve  as 


OR,  ENGLATO  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  85 

and  .«  .;  ,  """^  ^^^^  '^'"^   ^^  lively, 

^d  as  vigorously  productive,  as  those  fabulous  dragon^ 
e eth,   and   be.n,   sown   up    and   down,  naay  chance  to 
spmg  up  arnied  n.en.     And,  ,et,   on  the   other  hand 
un  ess  wanness  be  used,  as  good   almost  kill  a  n.an  as' 
kxU  a  good  book:  who  kills  a  n:an  kills  a   reasonable 
creature,  God  s  image ;  but  he  who  destroys  a  good  book 
lalls  reason  itself,   kills  the  image  of  God,   as  it  were! 
m  the  eye.    Many  a  man  lives  a  burden  to  the  earth ;  but 
a  good  book  is  the  precious  life-blood  of  a  master  spirit 
embalmed  and  treasured  up  on  purpose  to  a  life  beyond 

^^^'^^"^''^''P^Sitio^"  was  written  in  1644.    Early  in 
X04J   Its   author  was  appointed  Latin   Secretary  to  the 
CouncU  of  State;   a  post  he  continued  to  hold  under 
Cromwell,  assisted,  after  his  blindness  in  1654,  by  Andi-ew 
Marvell.      Milton's    form   of   blindness    was    that    now 
known  as  amaurosis,  formerly  called,  from  an  altogether 
erroneous  supposition  of  its  cause,  gutta  serena   ("drop 
serene'}.      The  fine  clear  brown  eyes  remained  unim- 
paired, but  the  nerve  of  sight  was  irreparably  injured 
partly  through  excessive  application,  and  partly  through 
a   gouty  habit  of  body.      In  his   domestic  life   Milton 
^d  not  been   wholly  happy;  from  his  first  wife,  Mary 
Powell,   he  had  been  divorced,  separated  by  the  wrong- 
dorng,  of  her   family,   and   after  her  death,  he  married 
Catherine   Woodcock,    who   was  taken  from   him    in  a 
year  at  the  birth  of  her  first  child.     His  sonnet   «on 
his  deceased  wife"  is   an  undying  evidence  of  the  love 
he  bore  her.      One  night  after  her  death  he  had  dreamed 
ot  her  as  coming  to  him  with  veiled  face. 


86 


THE  MEEKT  MONAECH  ; 

.'  And  such  as  yet  once  more  I  trust  to  have 
Full  sight  of  her  in  heaven  without  restraint- 
Came,  vested  all  in  white,  pure  as  her  mmd : 

Her  face  was  veiled,  yet  to  my  fancied  sight. 
Love,  sweetnes-s  goodness,  in  her  person  shined 

So  clear,  as  in  no  faee  with  more  delight ; 
But,  oh,  as  to  embrace  me  she  inclined 

I  waked,  she  fled,  and  day  brought  back  my  night. 

At  the  Eestoration  Milton,  though  he  knew  himself 
to  be  obnoxious  to  the  new  Court,  showed  no  sign  of 
timidity,  and  made  no  attempt  to  escape  its  vengeance. 
He  retired,  with  that  quiet  dignity  which  characterised  all 
the  actions  of  his  life,  to  a  fx-iend's  house  in  Bartholomew 
Close  ;  and  looked  on  unmoved,  while  a  Parhament  of 
Cavaliers  and   fanatical  Koyalists  voted  ^^^.P--;*-^ 
and  ordered  that  his  "  Eikonoclastes  »  and  his  "  Def  nsxo 
Populi  Anglicani"  should  be  burnt  by  the  hands  of  the 
common  hangman.    What  powerful  influence  was  exerted 
on  his  behalf  is   uncertain ;   some  authorities  give  the 
credit  to  his  friend  and  assistant,  Andrew  Marvell   who 
had  been  elected  to  Hull :  others,  to  Sir  William  Dave- 
nant,  who  thus  repaid  an  obligation  he  had  incurred  to 
the   poet;    but,  at  all  events,  he  was  fortunate  enough 
not  to  be  placed  among  the  exceptions  to  the  Act  ot 
Indemnity  and  Oblivion  passed  on  the  29th  of  August 
He  was  arrested;  but  the  House  of  Commons  ordered 
his  release  on  the  15th  December,  and  he  was  so  confident 
in  his  security  that  he  ventured  to  appeal  against  the 
excessive  fees  charged  in  connection  with  Ins  brie    im- 
prisonment.      For  about  a   year  he   lived  m  Holbom 
near  Eed  Lion  Square.     Thence,  in  1662,  he  removed 
to   Jewin  Street.  Aldersgate,  and  afterwards  to  a  small 
house  in  Artillery  Walk,  near  BunhiU  Fields,  his  residence 
for  the  remainder  of  his  life.     While  in  Jewin  Street  be 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


87 


took  to  himself,  by  tlie  advice  of  Dr.  Paget,  his  physician, 
a  third  wife ;  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Sir  Edward  MinshuU, 
of  Cheshire,  a  distant  kinswoman  of  the  doctor's.     She 
devoted  herself  to  her  husband's  happiness ;  but  his  three 
daughters,  of  whom  Anne,  the  eldest,  was  sixteen — Mary, 
the  second  fifteen — and  Deborah,  the  youngest,  ten,  did  not 
relish  the  rule  of  a  young  step-mother.  On  the  whole,  how- 
ever, his  household,  during  his  latter  years,  was  peaceful 
and  well-ordered.     The  method  of  his  daily  life  was  sim- 
plicity itself:  he  rose  at  four  in  the  summer,  and  at  five  in 
the  winter ;  heard  a  chapter  of  the  Hebrew  Bible,  and  was 
left  to  meditate  until  seven.  After  breakfast  some  one  read 
to   him,   and  he  dictated  to  his  amanuensis  until  noon. 
One  hour,  from  twelve  to  one,   was  reserved  for  exercise, 
either   walking  or   in  a  swing.     He   dined  at  one,  and 
occupied  himself  with    books,   music,   and  composition 
until   six.     Two  hours   were  given  to  conversation  with 
his   friends ;  and,   as  might  be  supposed,  he  was  a  fine 
talker.   He  sujpped  at  eight,  smoked  a  pipe,  and  retired  to 
bed  at  nine. 

Among  his  readers  was  young  Thomas  EUwood,  the 
Quaker.  Burning  with  a  great  desire  for  knowledge, 
he  came  up  to  London,  shortly  after  the  Eestoration, 
and  through  a  friend  made  the  acquaintance  of  Dr. 
Paget,  who,  in  1662,  introduced  the  young  man  (he 
was  then  twenty -three)  to  the  blind  poet.  His  reception 
was  very  favourable ;  and  he  was  invited  to  visit  Milton  at 
home,  whenever  he  wished,  "and  to  read  to  him  what 
books  he  should  appoint,^'  which  was  all  that  Ellwood 
desired.  He  tells  us  that  Milton  taught  him  the  foreign 
pronunciation  of  Latin,  and  perceiving  with  what  earnest 
desire  he  pursued  learning,  gave  him  not  only  all   the 


gg  THE   MEEET   MONAECH  ; 

encouragement  but  all  the  help  he  could.  "  For,  having 
a  curious  ear,  he  understood  by  my  tone,"  says  Ellwood, 
"  when  I  understood  what  I  read,  and  when  I  did  not ; 
and  accordingly  would  stop  me,  examine  me,  and  open 
the  most  difficult  passages." 

In  1665,  when  all  who  could  hastened  to  escape  from 
the    plague-stricken   city,  young    Ellwood,    at    Milton's 
request,  hired  for  him  "  a   pretty   box  "-a  plain,  half- 
timbered,  gable-fronted  cottage*— at  Chalfont  t^t.  Giles. 
When  the  poet  took  up  his  residence  there,  Ellwood, 
under  a  new  and  stringent  law  against  the  Quakers  and 
their  meetings,  had  been  thrown  into  Aylesbury  prison ; 
but  as  soon  as  he  was  released,  he  paid  Milton  a  visit. 
«  After  some  common  discourses  had  passed  between  us," 
writes  Ellwood,  "  he  called  for  a  manuscript  of  his,  which, 
being  brought,   he  delivered  to   me,  bidding  me  take  it 
home  with  me  and  read  it  at  my  leisure,  and  when  I  had 
done  so  return  it  to  him  with  my  judgment  thereupon. 
When  I  came  home  and  had  set  myself  to  read  it,  I  found 
it  was  that  exceUent  poem,  which  he  entitled  Paradise 
Lost.   After  I  had,  with  the  best  attention,  read  it  through, 
I  made  him  another  visit,  and  returned  him  his  book,  with 
the  acknowledgment  of  the  favour  he  had  done  me  m 
communicating  it  to  me.     He  asked  me  how  I  liked  it, 
and  what  I  thought  of  it,  which  I  modestly  but  freely  told 
him;  and,  after  some  further  discourse  about  it,  I  plea- 
santly said  to  him,  '  Thou  hast  said  much  here  of  Paradise 
Lost,  but  what  hast  thou  to  say  of  Paradise  Found  ?  '     He 
made  me  no  answer,  but  sat  some  time  in  a  muse;  then 
broke  off  that  discourse  and  fell  upon  another  subject. 
After  the  sickness  was  over  and  the  city  weU  cleansed  and 

.      i.Mi  •       -««n«T.f  nrABfirvation      It  stands  ob  the  rightr 

Jll^::^!^^:^:^:^^^    ^  ^^  -  be  the  .00. 

in  which  Milton  dictated  hia  "  Paradise  Regained. 


OE^  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


8^ 


become  safely  habitable  again,  be  returned  thitber.  And 
wben  afterwards  I  went  to  wait  on  bim  tbere  (wbich  I 
seldom  failed  of  doing  whenever  my  occasions  drew  me  to 
London),  be  showed  me  his  second  poem,  called  Paradise 
Regained,  and  in  a  pleasant  tone  said  to  me,  *This  is 
owing  to  you ;  for  you  put  it  into  my  head  by  the  question 
you  put  to  me  at  Chalfont,  which  before  I  had  not  thouc^ht 
of.  '  Milton,  however,  probably  felt  that  a  sequel  was 
needed  in  order  to  emphasize  and  define  more  precisely 
the  plan  of  Christ  in  the  Divine  scheme  of  redemption. 

^'  Paradise  Lost "  was  comi)leted  before  the  end  of  1665; 
"Paradise  Eegained"   (though  not  published  until  1671) 
probably  in  the  course  of  the  following  year,  or  early  in 
the  spring  of  1667.     Milton's  first  great  epic  found  a  pub- 
lisher in  Samuel  Simmons,  who  bought  the  copyright  for 
£15;  £5  paid  down,  £5  to  be  paid  on  the  sale  of  1,300 
copies  out  of  a  first  edition  of  1,500,  and  £5  more  on  the 
sale  of    1,300  out  of  a  second  edition  of  1,500  copies. 
Milton  lived  to  receive  a  second  -^ve  pounds,  and  to  his 
widow  were  paid  £8  for  her  remaining  interest  in  the 
copyright.    The  poem,  divided  at  first  into  only  ten  books, 
was  handsomely  printed  in  a  small  quarto  volume,  which 
was  sold  for  3s.     It  had  neither  preface,  notes,  nor  "argu- 
ments "  prefixed  to  the  different  books  (1667).     A  license 
for  publication  was  not  obtained  without  some  diflaculty, 
the  licencer  (the  Rev.  Thomas  Tomkyns,  chaplain  to  the 
Archbishop   of    Canterbury)    stumbling    at    a    supposed 
political  allusion  in  the  following  well-known  passage : 

'*  As  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air, 
Shorn  of  his  beams;   or,  from  behind  the  moon, 
In  dim  eclipse  disastrons  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs." 


■go  THE   MEERT   MONAECH  ; 

At  length,  however,  it  was  published,  and  the  English 
people  soon  showed  their  sense  of  the  inestimable  value 
of  this  new  addition  to  their  literature.  Thirteen  hundred 
copies  were  sold  in  two  years,  and  in  eleven  years  the  sale 
reached  three  thousand  copies  ;  not  a  bad  sale  for  a  reU- 
gious  epic  at  a  time  when  readers  were  limited  to  the  afluent 
classes,  and  the  popular  taste  had  been  corrupted  by  the 
introduction  of  French  models  and  the  influence  of  a  dis- 
solute and  luxurious  Court. 

To  criticise  "  Paradise  Lost  "  would  be  work  as  super- 
erogatory as  analysing  the  sun.  It  is  universally  accepted 
as    the    great  English   epic,   which  no   other    has    yet 
threatened  in  its  pride  of  place.     It  is  part  of  the  inherit- 
ance of  every  Englishman,  like  Magna  Charta  and  the 
Bill  of  Eights.    No  doubt  it  has  its  defects ;  it  is  prolix 
and  even  wearisome  in  some  of  its  passages ;  its  theology 
is  narrow  ;  its  conceptions  of  Heaven  and  Hell  are  neces- 
sarily  materialistic ;  *  but  what  are  these  when  compared 
with  those  essential  qualities  of  grandeur  of  thought  and 
diction  of  loftiness  of  purpose,  to  which  it  owes  its  immor- 
tality ?      But  in  Mr.  Mark  Pattison's  monograph  (m  the 
"English  Men   of    Letters"   series),   and    in   Professor 
Masson'8  comprehensive  biography,  the  reader  will  find 
elaborate  estimates  which  answer  almost  every  question 
that  can  arise  in  connection  with  its  study ;  and  he  may 
advantageously  compare  Macaulay's  and  Dr.  Channing's 

r.f  *^\.;a  /lofppf  which  was  forced  upon  him  by  the 

it,  in  the  words  he  puts  into  the  moath  of  Kaphael . 

"  What  Bnrmounts  the  reach 
Of  human  sense,  I  shall  delineate  so 
By  likening  spiritual  to  corporal  forms 
Ab  may  express  them  best :  though  what  if  earth 
5e  but^he  shadow  of  Heaven,  and  thmgs  therein  ^^ 
Each  to  other  like,  more  than  on  earth  is  thought  f 


OE,  ENGLAND  FNDEK  CHAELES  II. 


91 


well-known    essays.      His   attention    will  of   course  be 
directed  to  such  matters  as  the  extent  of  Milton's  obliga- 
tions to  Ca3dmon  and  Vondel,  which  scarcely  affect  more 
than  the  framework  of  the  poem ;  the  obvious  traces  of 
Spenser,  and  in  a  less  degree  of  Marlowe,  in  the  versifica- 
tion and  treatment;  the  characteristics  of  Milton's  blank 
verse,  its  processional  pomp,  its  complex  harmonies,  its 
majestic  rhythm;  the  rich  variety  of  the  allusions  and 
images;   the   effect   of  his  Calvinistic   theology  on  the 
development    of   his    subject;    his    felicitous    choice   of 
epithets  ;  his  incidental  description  s  of  natural  scenery ; 
and,   finally,  the   relation  of  the  poem  to  the  religious 
thought  of  the  age.     It  is  specially  interesting  to  compare 
it  with  Spenser's  "  Faery  Queen,"^  which  presents  one 
side  or  aspect  of  the  difficult  problem  of  which  "  Paradise 
Lost"  presents  the  other.      Thus,  if   we  take  it  to  be 
Spenser's  primary  object  to   indicate   the   aspiration  of 
man's  soul  towards  its  God,  it  is  not  less  the  purpose  of 
Milton  to 

"  Assert  eternal  Providence, 
And  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man ;" 

while  the  minds  of  both  are  fascinated  by  the  constant 
struggle  which  prevails  in  the  soul  and  in  the  world 
between  the  antagonistic  principles  of  Good  and  Evil. 

"  Paradise  Lost  "  and  "  Paradise  Eegained  "  should  be 
taken  together  as  one  great  continuous  allegorical  epic, 
which  divides  naturally  into  four  parts,  and  each  part  into 
four  books.  The  first  part,  Books  i.  to  iv.,  describes  the 
origin  and  progress  of  the  war  between  Good  and  Evil,  the 
fall  of  Evil  into  Hell,  and  the  renewal  of  the  struggle  upon 

*  In  the  preface  to  his  "  Fables,"  Dryden  remarks  that  Milton  is  the 
poetical  son  of  Spenser.  "  Milton  has  confessed  to  me,"  he  adds.  "  that 
Spenser  was  his  original." 


11 


92  THE   MEERT   MONARCH  ; 

earth  with  Man's  soul  as  the  prize  of  the  victor.    The 
second  part,  Books  v.  to  viii.,  forms  an  intermezzo,  in 
which,  through  the  narrative  of  the  Archangel  Raphael, 
we  learn  the  order  of  the  events  that  preceded  the  creation 
of  Man.     In  the  third  part.  Books  ix.  to  xii.,  the  story  of 
the  great  conflict  is  resumed,  with  Man's  fall,  its  imme- 
diate consequences,  and  the  Archangel  Michael's  forecast 
of  the  way  in  which  they  wiU  eventually  be  retrieved. 
Lastly,  the  fourth  part  ("  Paradise  Regained  ")  brings  us 
to  the  realisation   of  the   grand   Archaugelic   vision  m 
Christ's  victory  over  the  Power  of  Evil.     On  « the  highest 
pinnacle "  of  the  glorious  Temple  of  Jerusalem,  which 
shone  afar 

"  Like  a  monnt 
Of  alabaster  top't  with  golden  spites," 

Divine  Good,  in  the  person  of  Jesus  Christ,  wins  the  last 
battle  in  that  tremendous  war  which,  ages  agone,  had 
begun  in  "  heaven's  wide  champaign."  Celestial  choirs 
break  forth  into  strains  of  victory  :— 

"  Now  Thou  hast  avenged 
Supplanted  Adam,  and,  by  vanquishing 
Temptation,  hast  regained  lost  ParadisOj^ 
And  frustrated  the  conquest  fraudulent." 

"  Samson  Agonlstes  -  ^  was  published  in  the  same  year 

(1671)  as    *^  Paradise  Regained."     It  is  a  choral  drama, 

after  the  Greek  model,  but  in  a  severe  style,  and  is  instmct 

with  the  poet's  strong  individuality.     In  its  stately  verse 

the   main   aim   and   work   of  his   life  found  their  final 

expression.     For  twenty  years  he  had  championed  the 

sacred  cause  of    civil  and   religious  freedom,  and  to  the 

superficial  observer  the  battle  had  gone  against  him ;  the 

banner  was  torn  down,  and  the  hands  which  had  held  it 

*  Samson  is  taken  by  the  poet  as  the  type  of  P-itanism,  which,  though 
fallen,  had  nevertheless  defeated  the  enemies  of  God. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


93 


aloft  would  do  so  no  more.  But  the  poet  is,  by  virtue  of 
his  office,  a  seer,  and  Milton  foresaw  that  the  principles 
he  had  advocated  would  ultimately  prevail ;  just  as  the 
blind  and  aged  Samson— Samson  Agonistes,  the  wrestler 
--triumphed  over  the  Philistines.  And  the  drama  ends 
with  a  noble  song  of  content  and  faith,  which  fitly  closed 
Milton's  work  as  a  poet : — 

"  So  virtue,  given  for  lost, 
Depressed,  and  overthrown,  as  seemed, 
Like  that  self-begotten  bird 
In  the  Arabian  woods  imbost, 
That  no  second  knows  nor  third. 
And  lay  erewhile  a  holocaust, 
From  out  her  ashy  womb  now  teemed. 
Revives,  reflourishes,  then  vigorous  most 
When  most  unactive  deemed  ; 
And,  though  her  body  die,  her  fame  survives 
A  secular  bird  ages  of  lives." 

And  again : — 

"  All  is  best,  though  we  oft  doubt 
What  the  unsearchable  dispose 
Of  highest  Wisdom  brings  about, 
And  ever  best  found  in  the  close. 
Oft  He  seems  to  hide  His  face, 
But  unexpectedly  returns, 
And  to  His  faithful  champion  hath  in  place 
Bore  witness  gloriously." 

Milton's  last  years  were  years  of  peace.  He  bore  with 
calmness  the  pains  of  the  disease  (gout)  which  he  had 
inherited,  and  to  the  worst  ills  of  Poverty  happily  he  was 
never  exposed.  Eetaining  to  the  last  his  faculties  un- 
clouded, he  passed  away  without  pain  on  Sunday,  the 
8th  of  November,  1674.-^ 

Just  three  weeks  before  (October  15th)  the  grave  had 
closed  over  a  poet  of  very  different  mould,  Eobert  Her- 

*  The  best  commentary  on  Milton's  life  is  to  be  found  in  his  own  words  :— 
'  He  who  would  not  be  frustrate  of  his  hope  to  write  well  hereafter  of 
laudable  things,  ought  himself  to  be  a  true  poem." 


gj  THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 

rick,  the  author  of  «  The  Hesperides."     In  life  and  ia 
character  a  greater  contrast  could  hardly  be  found  than 
Herrick,  the    gay  lyrist  of  English  Epicureanism,  whose 
philosophy  was   summed    up  in  the    Horatian    "carpe 
diem  "  whose  life  was  animated  by  no  elevated  purpose- 
consecrated  by  no  patriotic  or  philanthropic  work  to  the 
great  Puritan  poet,   with    his   deep   sense  of  duty,  his 
Intense  religious  conviction,  and   his  lofty  zeal  for  the 
welfare  of  his  country.     Herrick  was  born  m  Cheapside, 
London,  in  1591.     In  his  youth  he  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Ben  Jonson,  and  sat  with  him  at    "  those  lyric  feasts 
which  he   afterwards   commemorated.       He   studied  at 
Cambridge-unfortunately  for  himself  took  holy  orders, 
thereby   missing  his    vocation-and   was   presented  by 
Charles   L,  in   1029  to  the   vicarage  of  Dean  Prior,  m 
Devonshire.     Poor  Herrick  !     His   tastes,  his  gifts,  and 
Ms  accomplishments  fitted  him  to  shine  among  the  wits 
and  beaux  of  London  society,  and  he  was  relegated  to  the 
companionship  of  Devonshire  boors.     He  did  his  best  to 
be  cheerful  in  these  adverse  circumstances;   and  amused 
his  superabundant  leisure  by  singing  the  <^ff^^'^^^- 
fuUest  songs   imaginable    to   imaginary  Julias     Silvias, 
Corinnas,by  writing  in  fluent  but  vigorous  verse  about  conn- 
Z  cnsto-s  and  rural  peculiarities,  while  he  drank  amp  e 
dights  of  generous  liquor,  or  taught  his  pet  pig  to  dnnk 
out  of   a  tankard,  or   chatted  airily  with  his   faithful 
«.rv«.nt-Pme     In  1648  he  was  expelled  from  his  vicarage, 
lid  he  returned  to  London,  where  he  published  h^  lyncs 
epigrams,   and  miscellanies,  under    the  title   of      He 
perides  "-  so  called,  of  course,  because  written  m  the  West 
^England.    In  the  previous  year  he  had  given  to  tbe 
world  some  soberer  strains,his  "  Noble  Numbers  ;  or,  Piou. 


OE,   ENGLAND   TINDER   OHAELES   II.  95 

Pieces ; "  but  in  these  his  genius  is  seen  to  less  advan- 
tage. 

During  the  Puritan  period  Herrick  lived  at  West- 
minster, on  the  alms  of  the  wealthier  Eoyalists,  and  I 
cannot  suppose  that  this  chapter  of  his  life  was  a  happy, 
and  It  was  certainly  not  an  honourable,  one.  After  the 
Restoration  he  returned  to  his  Devonshire  vicarage,  and 
probably  with  the  burden  of  gathering  years  upon  him, 
knew  better  how  to  appreciate  its  quiet.  He  was  in  his 
84th  year  when  he  died. 

As  Herrick  wrote  nothing  in  his  later  life,  we  may  be 
thought  to  have  erred  in  placing  him  among  the  poets  of 
Charies  the  Second's  reign ;  but  his  lyrics  breathe  the  true 
spirit  of  the   Eestoration.       They  were   much  more  in 
harmony  with  the  time,  when  king  and  courtiers  gave  up 
everything  to  pleasure,  than  at  the  date  of  their  publica- 
tion, when  the  country  was  divided  into  two  hostile  camps, 
and  the  minds  of  men  were  informed  with  a  deep  earnest- 
ness and  a  strenuous  ardour  of  which  the  poet  of  "  The 
Hesperides  "  was  wholly  incapable.       However  this  may 
be,  Herrick,  as  a  lyrist,  has  few  equals  among  our  English 
poets.     The  English  language  becomes  plastic  as  cUy  in 
his  ingenious  hands,  and  assumes  the  most  graceful  and 
fantastic   forms.       Ehymes   come  at  his   bidding;    and 
felicities  of  expression  of  the  most  artistic  character  seem 
to  spring  up  spontaneously.       No  doubt  he  polished  his 
verses  with  the  utmost  care,  but  he  had  the  art  to  conceal 
art,  and  perhaps  none  of  our  poets  is  more  successful  in 
producing  the  impression  that  he  sings,   like  the   birds 
because  lie  cannot  help  singing.     He  lifts  up  his  voice 
among  the  flowers  and  the   green  leaves  with  notes  as 
sweet  and  natural  as  those  of  the  mavis. 


96 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


An  accent  of  melancholy  sometimes  finds  its  way  into 
HerricFs  bright,  gay  verse ;  but  it  is  the  melancholy  of 
Paganism.     It  is  the  pleasure-seeker's  sorrow  as  he  sees 
the  dregs  inthe  wine-cup;  as  he  observes  the  shortening 
of  the  days  and  the  fading  of  the  flowers.       "  Let  ns  be 
merry,"    he  cries  with  something  of  forced  merriment, 
"  for  to-morrow  we  die."     It  is  not  that  he  recognizes 
the  vanity  and  triviality  of  his  pleasures ;    but  that  they 
must  so  soon  come  to  an  end.      It  is  this  thought  which 
interrupts  his  hilarious  song  with  a  sudden  cadence  of  pam. 
He  weeps  to  see  the  daffodils  haste  away  so  soon  ;  because 
they  remind  him  of  the  mortality  of  human  affairs,  and 
the  brief  span  of  human  existence. 

"  We  have  short  time  to  stay  as  you ; 
We  have  aa  short  a  spring ; 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay 
As  you  or  anything : 

We  die, 
As  your  hours  do  ;  and  dry 

Away 
Like  to  the  summer's  rain, 
Or  as  the  pearls  of  morning-dew, 
Ke'er  to  be  found  again." 

We  have  here  no  hint  of  a  brighter  future,  no  sugges- 
tions  of  immortality ;  it  is  the  old  Pagan  creed,  and  it 
sits  unbecomingly  on  the  English  priest. 

As  might  be  expected,  there  is  no  earnestness  in 
Herrick's''  religious  poetry.  I  do  not  say  that  it  is  inten- 
tionally insincere,  but  he  does  not  put  his  heart  into  his 
song ;  and  it  has  happily  been  said  that  he  sings  to  the 
old  heathen  tunes.  "  Even  at  his  prayers,  his  spirit  is 
mundane  and  not  filled  with  heavenly  things.-  He  carries 
Ms  gay  jocular  temper  into  the  sanctuary ;  in  his  "  Dirge 
of  Jepthah's  Daughter  "he  introduces  the  strangest,  the 
most  alien  allusions  to  seventeenth  century  customs  as 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


97 


far  removed  as  possible  from  his  subject.  He  is  most  at 
home,  however,  when  singing  of  his  real  or  ideal  mis- 
tresses, of  bright  eyes  and  sweet  flowers,  of  wassail-bowls 
and  morris-dances,  of  all  that  is  bright  and  luxuriant  in 
mral  life,  of  country  wakes  and  races,  of  the  may-pole 
and  the  harvest-field ;  and  when  dealing  with  such  themes 
his  verse  is  always  vigorous,  always  musical,  and  always 
picturesque,,  though,  unfortunately,  not  always  decent. 
"  I  sing/'  he  says  : — 

"  I  ainj?  of  hrooks,  of  blossoms,  birds,  and  bowers, 

Of  April,  May,  of  June,  and  July  flowers ; 

I  sing  of  May-poles,  hock-carts,  wassails,  wakes, 

Of  bridegrooms,  brides,  and  of  their  bridal  cakes. 

I  write  of  Youth,  of  Love ;  and  have  access 

By  those,  to  sing  of  cleanly  wantonness ; 

I  sing  of  dews,  of  rains,  and,  piece  by  piece. 

Of  balm,  of  oil,  of  spice,  and  ambergris. 

I  sing  of  times  trans-shifting  ;  and  I  write 

How  roses  first  came  red,  and  lilies  white. 

I  write  of  groves,  of  twilights,  and  I  sing 

The  court  of  Mab,  and  of  the  Fairv  Kin^r 
I  write  of  Hell  ;  I  sing,  and  ever  shall 
Of  Heaven,  and  hope  to  have  it  after  all." 

Herrick  is  a  poet  for  the  summer-time,  for  golden  noons 
and  warm,  sweet  twilights,  when  our  "bosom's  lord'' 
sits  lightly  on  its  throne,  and  we  are  disposed  for  awhile 
to  listen  to  the  strains  of  careless  lyres  and  to  watch  the 
free  dances  of  rustic  maids. 

Four  years  after  Milton,  died  his  collaborateur  and 
friend,  Andrew  Marvell  (1624-1678),  who,  in  the  Civil 
War  period,  had  laboured  both  in  prose  and  poetry  to 
advance  the  cause  of  the  Parliament  and  discredit  that  of 
the  Crown.  Though  bred  in  the  atmosphere  of  Puritanism, 

VOL.    II.  __ 


gg  THE   MERRT  MONARCH  ; 

Marvell,  however,  was  not  a  ^^^^  ^^^"^^^^  ^! 
■1  A  +>,«  nlisolutism  of  Charles  I.,  he  was  not  a  Ke 
assaded  ^^^f-^^^^^^^^^.n  as  Milton's  assistant- 

^rrXthf  deration,  as  a  .e.ber  of  Parliament 
and  alter  tne  ministry,  had 

wonld  have  given  lus  suppoit  to  the  ^  °-=  ^ 

the  King's  policy  been  honest  and  const.tn^.onah   He 

as  inflexible  and  as  incorruptible  as  a  B°--  J^ 

,    1  +v,«  =torv— how  Charles  II.  once  sent  to 

Everybody  knows  the  story     how  ^^^ 

h\m  Danbv,  the  Lord  Treasurer,  to  ofier  mm 
him  Danby,  ^  ^^^^^^^^  ^^^^^8. 

for  his  advocacy  a  place  ai  x-'uu  ^+  >>„  ?n. 

The  member  for  Hull  was  poor,  but  he  could  not  be  an 
IceHo  stain  the  whiteness  of  his  soul  by  accepting  a 
tX     his  only  answer  to  the  King's  agent  was  to  caU  ^ 

bnoe ,  ui»       J  successive  days  he 

servant  to  bear  witness  that  tor  inree 

had  dined  on  a  shoulder  of  mutton. 

As  a  poet  Marvell  has  grace  and  fancy,  wit  and  leam- 
i,,  he  h  --  descriptive  power  and  much  earnestness 
of  f^lC  but  he  is  very  unequal,  and  his  wit  sometimes 
of  feeling,  du  j  ^^  ^^^  "Britannia 

<1pcrpnerates  into  an  idle  ingeuuiuj. 

degenerat  ^^^^  ^^.^  ^^  ^^^^^^  ^^^^^.^j 

and  Raleigh     he  struci.    p  ^^^^^ 

-!_     4-^^  wViipTi  was  afterwards  wor^eu  vj^ 

hanter  which  was  ^^^^   .^  ..  ^j^^ 

Swift  and  Junius.    He  is   seen  ^  ^^ 

Garden,"    which,    of    its    kind     '^  ^f'f'    ^^^^^^y^ 
Bermudas,"    and  "The  Horatian    Ode    on   Cromwell s 

.  la  1650Marvenbecame  tntor  to  Ma^j^the  dang  te^^      through  this 

Fairfax,  the  general  of  the  P'^''""^"' '^^tn  to  Milton,  who,  in  1659,  re- 
engagement  that  he  became  perBonaUyJno^^^^      ^^  the  CoancJ  of 

oommended  him    to   Bradshaw  as  f-?^'^"^  j      ,,      ^ell  versed  in  French 
irtrspeaHng  of  h,m  ^  a  »a"  of  goo^^^^^^^^ 

and  Italian,  Spanish  and  Uutcn,  a  b    „~pnmDlishments  that,  if  he  had  naa 
^  of  so  inch  capacity  and  so  many  ^"'^P^^^^  ^een  slow  to  introduce 
^feeling  of  jealousy  o^J'-^J;,t^c™^well-s  p„tectorate  that  Marvell 
him  as  a  coadjutor.    It  was  not 
received  his  appomtment. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  99 

Return   from  Ireland.^'     This   last   contains   the   well- 
.known  picture  of  Charles  I.  on  the  scaffold : 

"  While  round  the  armed  bands 
Did  clap  their  bloody  hands  : 
He  nothing  common  did,  or  mean, 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 

But  with  his  keener  eye 

The  axe's  edge  did  try  ; 
Nor  called  the  gods,  with  vulgar  spite. 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right, 

But  bowed  his  comely  head 

L)own,  as  upon  a  bed." 

Some  good,  strong  lines  occur  in  his  poem  upon  Milton's 
'"Paradise  Lost,"  which  has  a  special  interest  as  having 
been  written  by  one  of  the  poet's  friends  and  intimate 
associates.     "  That  majesty/'  he  says, 

"  That  majesty  which  through  thy  work  doth  reign 
Draws  the  devout,  deterring  the  profane ; 
And  things  divine  thou  treat'st  of  in  such  state 
As  them  preserves,  and  thee,  inviolate. 
At  once  delight  and  horror  on  us  seize, 
Thou  sing'st  with  so  much  gravity  and  ease, 
And  above  human  flight  dost  soar  aloft 
With  plume  so  strong,  so  equal,  and  so  soft : 
The  bird  named  from  that  paradise  you  sing 
So  never  flags,  but  always  keeps  on  wing. 
Where  could'st  thou  words  of  such  a  compass  find  ? 
Whence  furnish  such  a  vast  expanse  of  mind  ? 
Just  Heaven  thee,  like  Tiresias,  to  requite. 
Rewards  with  prophecy  thy  loss  of  sight." 

In  the  year  that  witnessed  the  publication  of  ''  Paradise 
Lost/'— Dryden's  "Annus  Mirabilis/'— died  Abraham 
Cowley,  whose  later  life  had  been  spent  among  the 
pleasant  groves  of  Chertsey,  and  within  hearing  of  the 
murmurous  waters  of  the  Thames.  Born  in  1618,  he  was 
the  posthumous  son  of  a  London  stationer.  His  mother 
did  her  best  to    get  him  a  careful  and  comprehensive 


^^Q  THE  MERKY  MONARCH  ; 

education;  and  from  Spenser's  worlds,  -^^^^  '^J /^^ 
«t.antlv  in  her  parlour,  a  cherished  con>panion,  the  boy 
stantiy  in  uei  p  while  at  West- 

drank  in  his  first  poetical  inspiration.     Wh^k^    ^^ 
^.„,ter  School  he  wrote  p.  pastoral  comedy,  called     bove  s 
S?e  •"  and  in  1633  appeared  his  "Poetical  Blossoms^^ 
^  'portrait  of  the  author  at  the  a,e  of  ^^^^^^^^^^ 

juvenile   volume   contained     "  ^^^^^'^f  ^\f  ;7  J, 
r,  =   nT,a    Thishe,"  written  when  he  was  ten,  ana 

Pyramus   and    ihisoe,  ^i,^„  hp  was  thirteen 

«  Constantia  and  Philetus,"  written  when  he  was  tii 
v.!rold*     rrom   1636  to   1643  he  was  a  student   at 
years   o^        ^"^     r.^bridee  •    and    when    expelled    on 
Trinity    College,    Cambiuige ,    <iu  j,, 

accoult  of  his  royalist  sympathies,  he  -tered  St^  J^hn   , 
Oxford,  and  wrote  satirical  verse  ^^a^nst    he  Pun - 
Afterwards  he  accompanied  Queen    Henrietta  Maria    o 
pXwhere  he  acted  as  her  Secretary,  and  conducted 

,,  A  "  Thfi  Wi=h  "  of  which,  in  mature  years,  he 
*  In  this  volnme  we  find      The    W.bn  ashamed."     Few  boys 

Bpoke  as  verses  "  of  ^?'"«'' ^frl^^Rravitv,    clear   judgment,    and 
T  thirteen    have    -■^-"-^  4:^  Tttef stanzas,  embodying  "washes" 
dignified  expression.     Wt^uoto 
.Uich  he  li-d  to  reate  :  ^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^  ,;, 

To^  low  ffr  envy,  for  contempt  too  b,gh. 

Some  iionoiii  a  \>v/iwv* 
Kot  fvon,  great  deeds,  1"> '«""':',, '''°";:„  . 
The  unknown  are  better  than  .U  known  , 

Ba,nour  -«"  "l';;  •'i;'.J;™u;;t  whose  't  depends 
Acquaintanc-  I    "  "'       ";^'  ^^oice  of  friends. 
Not  on  the  ninnl"i,  but  tut.  lui 
■^     ,       u     ij    „r,t  ViiiBiness,  entcrtam  the  Ugnt, 
l^tsl^er'as  u^diSa  L  death,  the  night. 

Mv  hon^ii  a  cottat?e,  more 
Than  palace,  and  should  fittmg  be, 
For  all  my  nso,  not  luxury. 

My  garden  P-'y'\';;/;^[.^.  ^^^  pleasures  yield, 

^^^^"''"tenvy'rh^labinefidd. 
Horace  might  envy  m  ma  ^^ 

Thus  would  I  double  my  life's  fading  spaee^ 
For  he  that  runs  it  well  twice  runs  his  race. 

And  in  this  true  delight, 
Thestlbought  sports,  Uns  bap^7  etate, 
1  would  not  fear  nor  wish  my  fate, 

But  boldly  say  each  night. 


ORj  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


101 


the  correspondence   that   passed   between  her   and  the 
King. 

He  remained  in  France  until  1656.  Eeturning  to 
England  he  resided  there  under  surveillance  until  the 
death  of  Cromwell,  and  published  the  first  folio  edition 
of  his  Works.  He  was  made  an  M.D.  of  Oxford,  and 
began  to  take  up  the  study  of  botany,  under  the  impulse 
of  the  new  love  of  scientific  pursuits  which  was  springino- 
up  in  England.  On  the  death  of  Cromwell,  apprehensive 
probably  of  civil  commotion,  he  rejoined  his  friends  in 
France;  but  at  the  Eestoration  came  back,  and  took 
up  his  abode,  first  at  Barnes,  and  afterwards  at  Chertsey. 
Notwithstanding  his  well-proven  loyalty,  the  time  treated 
him  with  neglect ;  and  he  owed  the  means  of  livelihood  to 
the  munificence  of  Lord  St.  Albans  and  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham.-^  His  comedy,  ^' The  Cutter  of  Coleman 
Street,"  had  painted  with  a  good  deal  of  freedom  the 
dissolute  joviality  of  the  Cavaliers  ;  and  he  had  given 
offence  by  an  ode  in  honour  of  Brutus. 

When  involved  in  the  work  and  anxiety  of  the  world, 
Cowley  had  breathed  many  an  aspiration  for  the  joys 
of  rural  Solitude ;  yet  it  is  certain  that  in  his  retirement 
at  Chertsey  he  was  not  altogether  happy.  Surrey,  he 
soon  discovered,  was  not  Arcadian ;  and  the  Eestoration 
had  not  brought  back  the  Golden  Age.  There  was  as 
little  innocence  in  Chertsey  as  in  London;  his  tenants 
would  not  pay  their  rents,  and  his  neighbours  turned 
their  cattle  every  night  to  pasture  freely  in  his  meadows. 
If  Pope  may  be  credited,  his  death  came  of  an  igno- 
minious cause : — ''  It  was  occasioned,"  says  the  poet,  "  by 

*  Through  their  influence  he  obtained  a  lease  of  some  lands  belonging  to 
the  Queen,  worth  about  £300  per  annum. 


102 


THE   MERRT   MONARCH; 


a  mean  accident  while  bis  great  friend  Dean  Sprat  was 
with  him  on  a  visit.  They  had  been  together  to  see 
a  neighbour  of  Cowley's,  who,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
those  times,  made  them  too  welcome.  They  did  not 
set  out  for  their  walk  home  till  it  was  too  late,  and 
had  drunk  so  deep  that  they  lay  out  in  the  fields  all 
night.  This  gave  Cowley  the  fever  that  carried  him 
off"— on  the  28th  of  July,  1667.  His  remains  were 
carried  by  water  to  Westminster,  and  interred  with 
much  pomp  in  the  Abbey. 

In  the   folio  edition  of  his  "  Works "   we   find  them 
arranged  in  five  divisions:  1,  "Miscellanies,"  including 
"  Anacreontiques ; "   2,  "The   Mistress,"   a  collection  of 
love  poems ;  3,  "  The  Davideis,"  an  heroic  poem  of  the 
troubles  of  David ;  4,  "  Pindarique  Odes,"  to  which  were 
afterwards  added,  6,  "  Verses  on  Various  Occasions ;  "  and 
6,  "  Several  Discourses  by  way  of  Essays  in  Verse  and 
Prose."   Taken  as  a  whole,  the  poems  are  dreary  reading ; 
for  Cowley,  like  Wordsworth,  thought  that  whatever  he 
had  written  must  needs  be  worth  preserving;  and,  there- 
fore,  one  has  to  plod  wearily  through   a  great   stretch 
of  desert  to  reach  an  oasis  where  the  leaves  are  green 
and   the  birds   sing.     In   the   "Miscellanies"   there    is 
much  that  is  mean,  much  that  is  forced,  but  there  is 
also  much  that  is   very   good— as   the   fine  monody  on 
William  Hervey  and  the  elegy  on  Crashaw.     The  former 
will  bear  comparison  with  Matthew  Arnold's  "Thyrsis;" 
the    latter   contains    some    weighty   lines,    familiar    to 
every  lover  of   English  Poetry.     As,   for   instance,   the- 
couplet : — 

"  His  faith,  perhaps,  in  some  nice  tenets  might 
Be  wrong ;  his  life,  I'm  sure,  was  in  the  right." 


OE,    ENGLAND    UNDER   CHARLES   II. 


103 


And  the  exquisite  compliment 


"  Poet  and  Saint !  to  thee  alone  are  given 
The  two  most  sacred  names  of  earth  and  heaven, 
The  hard  and  rarest  union  which  can  be 
Next  that  of  godhead  with  humanity." 

Of  the   Love  Poems  we   may  say   with  Johnson   that 
they  are  ''  such  as  might  have  been  written  for  penance 
by  a  hermit,  or  for  hire  by  a  philosophical  rhymer  who 
had  only  heard  of  another  sex."     He  did  not  ''look  into 
his  own  heart  and  write"  (as  Sidney  bids  the  poet  do), 
but  composed  his  amatory  lyrics  as    exercises  in  verse — 
as  part  of  the  obligation  which  rested  on  every  man  who 
sought  admission  to  the  poetic  brotherhood.      "Poets," 
he  says,  "  are  scarce  thought  Freemen  of  the  Company 
without  paying   some   duties   and    obliging    themselves 
to   be  true  to  Love."     One  can  easily  understand  what 
will  be   the   result  when   a  man   writes   love  poems   in 
this   spirit !     They   abound  with   frigid   and   unpleasant 
conceits ;  far-fetched  images ;  the  misapplied  ingenuities 
of  a  vexatious  pedantry.     What  they  do  7iot  contain  is 
a   spark   of  true  passion-a   flash   of  real  and  genuine 
feeling.     It   is  in  the   "  Pindarique  Odes "  I  think  that 
Cowley  is  seen  at  his  best ;  for  by  common  consent  "  The 
Davideis  "  has  long  ago  been  given  over  to  oblivion;  and 
in  the  "  Ode  to  Mrs.  Hobbs ''  and  the  "  Ode  on  the  Eoyal 
Society"    he  writes   with    an  elevation,    a  fervour,   and 
even   a   simplicity   which   constrain   us  to  cry — 0  si  sic 
omnia  !     In  some  of  his  less  ambitious  efforts  he  is  also 
seen  to  great  advantage,  and  they  help  us  to  understand 
the    influence    he     exercised     over    his    contemporaries. 
Cowley,   in   fact,  is  just  one   of  those  poets  who  shine 
most  in  our  Anthologies,  where  their  gold  is  presented 


1 


104 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


without  their  dross.    In  his  wide  poetical  garden  weeds 
are  profusely  mingled  with  flowers ;   bnt  of  these  flowers 
there  are  enough  to  make  up  a  posy  which,  for  bloom  and 
colour,  shall  please  the  most  fastidious.     In  our  Antholo- 
gies  we  can  forget  the  metaphysics,  the  artificialities,  the 
<' conceits,"   and   the   'Mnixed  wit^'  which  Johnson  and 
Addison  have   so  severely  and  justly  condemned;  those 
grave  pervading  errors  which  have   heaped  the  dust  of 
forgetfulness  on  the  poetry  of  a-  man  who  possessed  not 
a  few  of  the  essential  qualities  of  a  true  poet.  Cowley 
was  unfortunate   in  his  age  ;  he  came  too  late,  and  too 
soon.     The   prodigal  strength   and  exuberant  vigour  of 
the  Elizabethans  were  almost  exhausted,  and  as  yet  the 
fine  taste  and  critical  judgment  of  Dryden  and  Pope  had 
not  begun  to  assert  their  influence.      How  well  he  could 
write  when  he  threw   off  his   self-imposed   tetters   may 
be   seen   in  those  verses   on  Solitude  which  we   extract 
from  his   admirable    "Discourses    by  way    of  Essays," 
in  which  ripe   thought   and   calm,   clear  judgment   are 
expressed  in  a  manly  and  dignified  prose  :— 

"  Hail  ,old  patrician  trees,  so  great  and  good ! 
Hail,  ye  plebeian  underwood  ! 
Where  the  poetic  birds  rejoice, 
And  for  their  quiet  nests  and  plenteous  food, 
Pay  with  their  grateful  voice. 

Hail,  the  poor  muse's  richest  manor  seat  I 

Ye  country  houses  and  retreat, 

Which  all  ihe  happy  gods  so  love, 
That  for  you  oft  they  quit  their  bright  and  great 

Metropolis  above. 

Here  Nature  does  a  house  for  me  erect, 

Nature  the  wisest  arcliitect, 

Who  those  fond  artists  does  despise 
That  can  the  fair  and  living  trees  neglect, 

Yet  the  dead  timber  prize. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.  105 

Here  let  me  careless  and  unthoughtful  lying, 
Hear  the  soft  winds  above  me  flying, 
With  all  their  wanton  boughs  dispute, 

And  the  more  tuneful  birds  to  both  replying, 
Nor  be  myself  too  mute.  .  .  . 

Ah,  wretched,  and  too  solitary  he 

Who  loves  not  his  own  company  ! 

He'll  feel  the  weight  of  't  many  a  day 
Unless  he  call  in  sin  or  vanity 

To  help  to  bear  't  away. 

O  solitude,  first  state  of  human-kind  ! 

Which  blest  remained  till  man  did  find 

Even  his  own  helper's  company. 
As  soon  as  two  (alas!)  together  joined, 

The  serpent  made  up  three.  .  . 

Thou  the  faint  beams  of  reason's  scattered  light, 

Dost  like  a  burning-glass  unite, 

Dost  multiply  the  feeble  heat, 
And  fortify  the  strength,  till  thou  dost  bright 

And  noble  fires  beget. 

Whilst  this  hard  truth  I  teach,  methinks  I  see 

The  monster  London  laugh  at  me, 

I  should  at  thee  too,  foolish  city. 
If  it  were  fit  to  laugh  at  misery, 

But  thy  estate  I  pity. 

Let  but  thy  wicked  men  from  out  thee  go, 
And  all  the  fools  that  crowd  thee  so, 
Even  thou  who  dost  thy  millions  boast, 

A  village  less  than  Islington  will  grow, 
A  solitude  almost.'* 

One  of  the  fairest  spots  in  Kent  is  that  Penshurst 
which  the  poets  have  endowed  with  a  lasting  fame;  and 
few  of  the  old  Kentish  manor-houses  are  better  worth  a 
visit  than  Penshurst  Place,  the  Home  of  the  Sidneys.  If 
the  reader  should  obtain  admission  to  it^  he  will,  of 
course,  direct  his  particular  attention  to  the  Gallery, 
which  contains  some  good  specimens  of  the  great  masters, 
and  a  few  portraits  of  historical  interest.  Among  the 
latter  he   will   observe   two   of  Lady   Dorothea   Sidney, 


106 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Leicester.  One,  by  Vandyke,  re- 
presents her  in  her  lovely  youth,  attired  as  a  shepherdess, 
with  lonj::  golden  curls  crowning  the  virgin  beauty  of  her 
brow.  The  other,  by  Hoskins,  shows  her  in  her  married 
womanhood,  when  she  seems  to  have  lost  none  of  her  per- 
sonal attractions.  This  noble  lady,  in  1639,  married  the 
Earl  of  Sunderland ;  bat  in  Encrlish  literature  she  is  known 
by  the  name  of  Saccharissa  ("  the  sweetest '') ,  given  to  her 
in  his  polished  verses  by  her  poet-lover,  Edmund  Waller. 
An  avenue  of  beeches  at  Penshurst  is  still  called  "  Sac- 

charissa's  Walk.^' 

Edmund  Waller  occupies  a  niche  among  our  English 
poets,  not  so  much  on  account  of  his  lyrical  praises  of 
this  old-world  beauty,  as  on  account  of  his  share  in  the 
development  of  our  versification.  Dryden,  in  the  dedica- 
tion to  his  drama  of  "  The  Eival  Ladies,^'  speaking  of 
rhyme,  observes  that  "  the  excellence  and  dignity  of  it 
were  never  fully  known  till  Mr.  Waller  taught  it;  he 
first  made  writing  easily  an  art :  first  showed  us  to  con- 
clude the  sense  most  commonly  in  distichs,  which  in  the 
verse  of  those  before  him  runs  on  for  so  many  lines 
together  that  the  reader  is  out  of  breath  to  overtake  it." 
Elijah  Fenton  also  speaks  of  him  as  the 

"  Maker  and  model  of  melodious  verse  ;  " 

and  this  exaggerated  praise  was  repeated  by  Voltaire, 
who  aflarmed  that  he  had  created  the  art  of  liquid 
numbers.  The  French  wit  might  be  forgiven  for  not 
knowing  much  of  our  earlier  literature ;  but  Dryden  and 
Fenton  ought  to  have  known— and,  indeed,  Dryden  did 
Imow— that  melodious  verse  and  excellent  rhyme  had  been 
written  long  before  Waller  wrote.  The  share  of  credit 
reaDy  due  to  him  is  that  he  introduced  the  French  f  ashioa 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


107 


of  writing  couplets ;  those  heroic  distichs  which  Denhara 
and  Dryden  adopted,  and  Pope,  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  and 
others,  down  to  Byron,  esteemed  so  highly. 

Waller's  principal   merit   is   the  polish  of  his  verses. 
They  are  sweet,  accurate,  and  fluent;    but  never  glow 
with  passion  or  break  into  lyrical  music.      There  is  such 
an  uniform  elegance  about  them  that  they  cloy  and  weary 
the  reader,  who  longs  with  a  singular  impatience   for 
some  interruption  to  this  elaborate  monotony.  Even  in  his 
love-songs  there  is  not  the  slightest  warmth— no  evidence 
of  manly  feeling— no  sign  and  token  of  the  trustfulness 
and  fervour  and  tenderness  of  love.     Waller's  suit  was 
unsuccessful;  but  it   does   not   seem   that   he   felt  very 
deeply  the  disappointment  to  his  hopes.     The  truth  is,  that 
he  thought  a  great  deal  more  of  himself  than  of  the  lady, 
and  while  he  sang  was  chiefly  anxious  about  the  figure  he 
should  make  in  the  eyes  of  posterity.     Would  Saccharissa 
do  for  him  what  Laura  had  done  for  Petrarch  ?     That  was 
what  he  really  cared  about ;    in  his  case  the  last  thino- 
to  be  feared  was   a  broken   heart.     Perhaps  the   Lady 
Dorothy  saw  this  as  clearly  as  we  see  it;    and  it  may 
account    for   her    dismissal    of    the    sweet    singer    and 
insincere  lover. 

Waller's  poetical  work  is  easily  summed  up:  besides 
his  love-songs,  he  wrote  a  long  epical  poem  on  the 
Summer's  Islands ;  ^  a  vigorous  ''  Panegyric  upon  Oliver 
Cromwell ;  "  some  feeble  stanzas  on  the  "  Death  of  the 
late  usurper,  O.C. ; "  and,  towards  the  close  of  his  career, 
six  dreary  cantos  "Of  Divine  Life."  He  is  now  best 
remembered  by  his  graceful  lyric,   "  Go,  lovely  Eose ;  " 


*  Evidently  in  Byron's  mind  when  he  wrote  *'  The  Island." 


108 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


liis  pathetic  couplets  on  "  Old  Age  and  Death ;  "   and  his 
pretty  conceit  about  the  Girdle  : — 

"  A  narrow  compass,  and  yet  there 
Dwelt  all  that's  good,  and  all  that's  fair  j 
Give  me  but  what  this  ribbon  bound, 
Take  all  the  rest  the  sun  goes  round." 

It  is  a  characteristic  of  his  good  and  passionless  verse 
that  it  was  always  the  same,  in  old  age  as  in  early  man- 
hood ;  drawing  ingenious  moralities  from  a  fading  rose, 
or  celebrating  "  His  Majesty's  Escape  at  St.  Andrew's ; " 
never  rising  to  any  heights  of  eloquence  or  power,  and 
never  sinking  below  a  certain  level  of  graceful  execution. 

Edmund  Waller  was  born  at  Coleshill,  in  Warwickshire, 
on  the  third  of  March,  1605— the  year  in  which  Sir 
William  Davenant  was  born.  His  father  died  in  his 
infancy,  and  left  him  an  income  of  £3,500  a  year,  equal . 
to  about  £10,000  or  £11,000  at  the  present  value  of  money. 
His  mother  was  John  Hampden's  sister — a  relationship  of 
which  any  Englishman  might  be  proud.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  Eton  and  Cambridge,  and  at  the  age  of  seventeen 
the  precocious  young  man  entered  Parliament  as  member 
for  Agmondesham.  He  was  scarcely  twenty-five  when  he 
married  a  city  heiress,  who,  dying  within  a  twelvemonth, 
left  him  richer  than  before;  and  the  wealthy  young 
gallant,  already  of  some  repute  as  a  poet,  began  his 
suit  to  Lady  Dorothy  Sidney.  He  pelted  her  with  love- 
verses  for  some  years,  but  she  proved  obdurate,  and,  in 
1639,  bestowed  her  hand  on  the  Earl  of  Sunderland.  It 
is  said  that,  meeting  her  in  later  life,  when  Time  had 
dealt  hardly  with  her,  he  replied  to  her  inquiry  when  he 
would  again  write  such  verses  upon  her,  "  When  you  are 
as  young,  madam,  and  as  handsome  as  then  you  were." 
But  no  gentleman  would  have  made  such  a  reply,  and, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.         109 

with  all  his  faults.  Waller  was  a  gentleman.  Eeturned 
to  Parliament  in  1640,  he  took  at  first  the  popular  side, 
owing,  probably,  to  the  influence  of  his  uncle  Hampden' 
and  was  foremost  in  the  opposition  to  the  ship-money  tax'; 
but  he  veered  round  to  the  Royalists  as  events  hurried  on 
the  Civil  War.  For  his  share  in  a  plot  to  surprise  the 
London  train  bands  and  let  in  the  royal  troops,  in  1648, 
he  narrowly  escaped  the  scaffold  ;  but  his  abject  entreaties 
saved  his  life,  and  he  was  let  off  with  a  fine  of  £10,000 
and  a  year's  imprisonment.  *  On  his  release,  he  croised 
over  to  France,  and  lived  at  Eouen  with  a  good  deal 
of  splendour. 

After  some  years  he  returned  to  England,  and  made  his 
peace  with  Cromwell,   by  whose   majestic   character  he 
,  seems  to  have  been  strongly  impressed.     His  ''  Panegyric 
on  Oliver  Cromwell  '^  contains  some  of  his  best  writing. 
With  easy  morality  he  prepared  a  congratulatory  address 
to  Charles  II.,  which  was  so  inferior  in  poetical   merit 
that  the  cUhonnair  monarch  rallied  him  on  the  disparity. 
"  Poets,   sir,"  answered  Waller,  with  felicitous  imperti- 
nence, "  succeed  better  in  fiction  than  in  truth.'^     He  sat 
in  several  Parliaments  after  the  Restoration,  and  Bishop 
Burnet  tells  us  that  he  was  the  delight  of  the  House  of 
Commons.      For  his  loyal  subservience  he  was  rewarded 
with  the  Provostship  of  Eton.     At  the  accession  of  James 
XL,  he  was  elected  representative  for  a  Cornish  borough; 
and  his  keen  political  sagacity  soon  predicted  the  issue  to 
which  the  new  King's  arbitrary  measures   would   brin<r 

*  -  He  had  mach  ado  to  save  his  life,"  sajs  Aubrey,  "and  in  order  to  do 

L'^^U  ;;n<rr       \"'  ^,^^^^«^'^,=^l",^-«'  ^^^-^^  ^^^^^  P^r  annum,  to  Ur.  Wright, 
for  £10,000  (much  under  value),  which  was  procured  in  twenty-four  hours' 
time  or  else  he  had  been  hanged.     With  this  money  he  bribed  the  House 
which  was  the  hrst  time  a  House  of    Commons  was  ever  bribed  "     Th« 
money  really  went  to  pay  the  fine. 


110 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


Mm.  "  He  will  be  left,"  he  said,  "  like  a  whale  upon  the 
strand."  About  this  time  he  purchased  a  small  property 
at  Coleshill,  his  native  place,  saying,  "  He  was  fain  to  die 
like  the  stag,  where  he  was  raised."  But  he  was  not 
fated  to  realise  his  wish.  An  attack  of  dropsy  carried 
him  oif  at  Beaconsfield,  on  the  21st  of  October,  1682  ; 
and  he  was  buried  in  the  churchyard,  where  the  ashes  of 
Edmund  Burke  also  rest. 

One  of  his  later  literary  acts  was  the  mutilation  of 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Maid's  Tragedy."  The  per- 
formance of  this  fine  play  was  prohibited  after  the 
Kestoration,  its  moral — that 

"  On  lustful  Kings 
Unlooked-for  sudden  deaths  from  heaven  are  sent " — 

being  necessarily  disagreeable  to  the  royal  protector  of  ^ 
Mrs.  Barbara  Palmer,  Mistress  Eleanor  Gwynn,  Louise  de 
la  Querouailles,  and  others.  Waller  rehabilitated  it  in 
Charles's  favour  by  contriving  a  new  act,  in  which  the 
wronged  Melantius  rejoices  in  the  gracious  condescension 
of  the  licentious  King  of  Rhodes  who  offers  him  "  satis- 
faction "  in  a  duel  :— 

*'  The  royal  sword  thus  drawn,  has  cured  a  wound 
For  which  no  other  salve  would  have  been  found, 
Your  brother  now  in  arms  ourselves  we  boast, 
A  satisfaction  for  a  sister  lost. 
The  blood  of  Kings  exposed,  washes  a  stain 
Cleaner  than  thousands  of  the  vulgar  slain." 

The  new  ending  required  a  new  moral,  and  here  it  is : — 

"  Long  may  he  reign  that  is  so  far  above 
All  vice,  all  passion  but  excess  of  love." 

"Excess  of  love  "—a  nice  euphemism,  truly,  for  vulgar 
lust !  The  conscience  of  Mr.  Edmund  Waller  must  have 
thrilled  with  satisfaction  as  he  wrote  these  charming 
lines. 


OE,    ENGLANT>    UNDER    CHARLES    II. 


Ill 


Let  us  get  rid  of  this  nauseous  remembrance  by  repeat- 
ing the  one  perfect— or  almost  perfect — lyric  which  will 
keep  Waller's  name  alive  in  future  ages  : — 

"  Go,  lovely  Eose, 
Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me. 

That  now  she  knows 
When  I  resemble  her  to  thee 
How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that's  young, 
And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  hadst  thou  sprung 
In  deserts  where  no  men  abide, 
Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

Small  is  the  worth 
Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired ; 

Bid  her  come  forth, 
Suffer  herself  to  be  desired. 
And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die,  that  she 
The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee, 
How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 
Who  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair." 

In  none  other  of  his  poems  has  Waller  touched  such  a 
chord  of  truth  and  virtue.  In  none  other  are  his  cadences 
so  new  and  fresh,  and  yet  so  sweet — sweet  with  almost  a 
Shakespearian  sweetness.  The  song  is  one  of  those  which 
set  themselves  naturally,  as  it  were,  to  music.  You  set 
an  air  to  the  words  perforce  as  you  repeat  them.  One 
can  forgive  Waller  a  good  deal  for  this  lustrous  and  ex- 
quisitely wrought  gem. 

In  all  Sir  William  Davenant's  ponderous  folio  collec- 
tion of  masques,  tragedies,  operas,  heroic  poems,  and 
what  not,  I  can  find  nothing  to  equal  Waller^s  claim  to 
immortality.  The  dust  of  oblivion  rests  upon  them.  The 
life-blood  of  genius  was  wanting,  and  so  they  decayed 
rapidly,  and  the  world  put  them  out  of  sight,  as  dead 


112 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


113 


things  that  were  not  worthy  even  of  decent  interment. 
Yet  his  epic  poem  of  "Gondibert''  (published  in  1651) 
had  its  admirers  in  its  da} — a  very  short  one— and  Waller 
and  Cowley  would  predict  for  it  an  enduring  renown. 
And  that  its  author  had  a  large  command  of  sonorous  rhe- 
torical verse  and  no  small  amount  of  technical  skill,  we 
are  constrained  to  admit.  He  was  a  man  of  ingenuity, 
scholarship,  and  patience  ;  but  he  was  no  poet.  The  dry 
bones  were  there ;  but  he  could  not  put  into  them  the 

breath  of  life. 

"Gondibert"  is  an  epic  of  chivalry,  in  which  the  story 
carries  an  inner  significance,  being  designed  to    recom- 
mend and  illustrate  the  study  of  Nature,  and  to  deduce 
therefrom  certain  philosophical  conclusions.     It  is  written 
in  two-syllabled  lines,  and  in  quatrains;  a  metrical  form^ 
afterwards  adopted  by  Dryden  in  his  ''  Annus  Mirabilis." 
Davenant,  in  his  preface,  explains  his  use  of  it  on    the 
ground  'Hhat  it  would  be  more  pleasant  to  the  reader,  in 
a  work  of  length,  to  give  this  respite  or  pause  between 
every    stanza     (having   endeavoured    that    each     should 
contain  a  period)   than  to  run  him  out  of  breath    with 
continued  couplets.       Nor  doth  alternate  rhyme  by  any 
lowliness  of  cadence  make  the  sound  less  heroick,  but 
rather    adapt   it   to   a  plain    and   stately  composing   of 
musick ;  and  the  the  brevity  of  the  stanza  renders  it  less 
subtle  to  the  composer  and  more  easy  to  the  singer,  which 
in  stilo  recitativo,  where  ihe  story  is  long,  is   chiefly  re- 
quisite."    And  he  goes  on  to  express  the  astounding  hope 
that  the  cantos  of  his  poem— of  this  dreary,  monotonous, 
semi-philosophical  essay    in  rhyme,   which    has    neither 
dramatic  incident  nor   lyrical  break— would  be  sung  at 

*  Davenant  borrowed  it  from  Sir  John  Davies's  "  Nosce  teipsum." 


i 


village  feasts  !  Heaven  help  the  villagers  who  had  the 
misfortune  to  join  the  audience  !  They  could  escape 
being  reduced  to  utter  imbecility  only  by  falling  into  a 

heavy  sleep. 

The  argument,  briefly  told,  is  this  : — 

Aribert  the  Lombard  is  prince  of  Yerona.  His  beautiful 
daughter,  Rhodalind,  who  is  his  heiress,  is  sought  in 
marriage  by  two  renowned  warriors.  Prince  Oswald,  who 
is  a  man  of  great  worldly  ambition,  and  Duke  Gondibert, 
whose  aims  and  aspirations  are  loftier.  While  engaged 
in  the  chase,  Gondibert  falls  into  an  ambush  laid  by 
Oswald  ;  in  the  duel  which  ensues,  he  is  wounded,  but 
Oswald  is  slain.  The  wounded  Gondibert  is  carried  to 
the  house  of  the  philosopher  Astragon,  which  is  in  itself 
an  allegory,  with  its  garden  labelled  ''  Nature's  Nursery," 
and  its  "  Nature's  Ofiice,  and  its  Librarj^,"  "  The  Monu- 
ment of  Vanished  Minds,"  and  its  threefold  Temple, 
dedicated  to  "  Days  of  Praise,  of  Prayer,  and  Penitence." 
Here  he  is  tenderly  nursed  by  Astragon's  daughter, 
Birtha,  who  seems  intended  as  a  type  of  Nature,  and 
soon  learns  to  love  her.  He  applies  to  Astragon  to 
sanction  his  suit,  and,  in  doing  so,  gives  an  account  of 
his  aim  and  purpose,  which  shows  that  Davenant  was  not 
incapable  of  serious  and  elevated  thought.  He  desires  to 
bring  the  world  under  the  rule  of  a  single  monarchy,  not 
to  gratify  a  mean  ambition,  but  in  order  to  secure  the 
happiness  of  the  peoples,  and  inaugurate  a  reign  of  peace. 
This  object  accomplished  he  would  then  abandon  himself 
to  the  study  of  Nature  in  company  with  Birtha : — 

**  Here  all  reward  of  conquest  I  would  find  ; 
Leave  shining  thrones  for  Birtha  in  a  shade  ; 
With  Nature's  quiet  wonders  fill  my  mind, 
And  praise  her  most  because  she  Birtha  made." 

VOL.    II,  T 


114 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


There  are  some  fine  lines  scattered  through  this  ponderous 
poem,  and  its  general  tone  is  grave  and  earnest;  but 
apart  from  its  want  of  interest  and  the  monotony  of  its 
versification,  the  entire  absence  of  human  passion  and 
feeHng  will  account  for  the  neglect  it  has  experienced. 
We  give  a  specimen  or  two  of  the  poet's  happier 
flights: — 

"And  now  the  weary  world's  great  medicine,  Sleep. 

This  learned  li08t  di.^pensed  to  every  guest, 
Which  shuts  those  wounds  where  injured  lovers  weep. 
And  flies  oppressors  to  relieve  the  opprest. 

It  loves  the  cottatre  and  from  Court  abstains, 

It  stills  till'  MJiuian  thouj^di  tlu-  sloiuibe  high, 
Frees  the  grieved  captive  in  his  c  chains, 

Stops  Want's  loud  mouth,  and  blinds  the  treacherous  spy." 

The  description  of  the  Virgin  Birtha  is  not  without  a 
certain  poetical  grace : — 

"  Iler  beauty  princes  durst  not  hope  to  use. 

Unless,  like  poets,  for  their  morning  theme; 
And  her  mind's  beauty  tlioy  would  rather  choose, 
Which  did  the  light  in  lieauty's  lanthorn  seem. 

She  neVr  saw  courts,  yet  courts  could  have  undone 
With  untaught  looks  and  an  unpractised  heart ; 

Her  arts,  the  most  prepared  could  never  shun. 
For  Nature  spread  them  in  the  scorn  of  Art. 

She  never  had  in  busv  cities  been, 

Ne'er  warmed  with  hopes,  nor  e'er  allayed  with  fears  ; 
Not  seeing  punishment,  could  guess  no  sin  ; 

And  sin  not  seeing,  ne'er  had  use  of  tears. 

But  here  her  father's  precepts  gave  her  skill. 
Which  with  incessant  business  filled  the  hours  ; 

In  spring  she  gathered  blossoms  for  the  still ; 
In  autumn,  berries  ;  and  in  summer,  flowers. 

And  as  kind  Nature,  with  calm  diligence. 

Her  own  free  virtue  silently  employs, 
Whilst  she,  unheard,  does  ripening  growth  dispense 

So  were  her  virtues  busy  without  noise." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


115 


The  following  would  make  a  fit  inscription  for  a 
Library : — 

"  Where,  when  they  thought  they  saw  in  well-sought  books, 
Th'  assembled  souls  of  all  that  Men  held  wise, 
It  bred  such  awful  reverence  in  their  looks, 
As  if  they  saw  the  buried  writers  rise." 

Sir  William  Davenant  (or  D'Avenant,  as  he  preferred 
to  write  it)  was  the  son  of  an  Oxford  vintner,  and  born 
in  February  1605.  An  apocryphal  story,  told  to  Pope  by 
Betterton  the  player,  makes  him  the  natural  son  of 
Shakespeare,  who,  it  is  said,  on  his  journeys  between 
London  and  Strat ford-on- Avon,  was  accustomed  to  lodge 
at  the  Crown  Tavern,  kept  by  the  elder  Davenant.  The 
poet,  we  are  told,  was  proud  of  the  supposed  relationship. 
He  always  professed  a  great  admiration  for  Shakespeare, 
and  one  of  the  earliest  essays  of  his  boyish  muse  was  an 
Ode  to  his  memory.  Eeceiving  his  education  at  the 
Oxford  Grammar  School,  he  was  afterwards  sent  to  Lin- 
coln College,  but  left  without  taking  a  degree.  He  be- 
came page  to  the  Duchess  of  Richmond,  and  next  was  in 
the  service  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney^s  friend,  Fulke  Greville, 
Lord  Brooke.  After  his  fiither's  death,  in  1628,  he  took  to 
writing  for  the  stage.  His  fi.rst  composition  was  a  tragedy, 
*' Albovine,  King  of  the  Lomhards"  (1629),  and  this  was 
followed  by  two  plays,  "  The  Cruel  Brother"  and  "  The  Just 
Italian,"  which  are  condemned  by  their  very  titles.  In 
1634  he  wrote  a  masque,  for  Queen  Henrietta  Maria  and 
her  ladies,  entitled  ''  The  Temple  of  Love."  The  following 
year  witnessed  the  production  of  a  volume  of  poetry,  con- 
taining his  Shakespearian  Ode  and  a  poem  in  heroic 
couplets,  entitled  '*  Madagascar,"  which  celebrated  the  ex- 
ploits at  sea  of  Prince  Eupert.  He  was  so  much  esteemed 
at  Court  for  his  poetical  invention  that,  in  1637,  on  the 


Jig  THE    MEEBT   MONAKCH  ; 

aeath  of  Ben  Jonson,  he  was  appointed  poet-laureate  ;  and, 
two  years  later,  was  made  director  of  the  King  and  Queen's 
company  of  actors  at  the  Cockpit  in  Drury  Lane.  His 
royalist  sympathies  led  to  his  apprehension  and  imprison- 
ment when  the  Civil  War  broke  out ;  but  he  effected  his 

escape  to  France. 

When  Queen  Henrietta  despatched  to  the  Earl  of  New- 
castle a  supply  of  military  materiel,  Davenant  returned  to 
England,  was  made  the  Earl's  Lieuten ant-General  of  the 
Ordnance,  and  for  his  courage  and  conduct  at  the  siege  of 
Gloucester  and  in  the  field,  received,  in  1643,  the  honour 
of  knighthood.     The  successes  of  the  Puritans  decided 
him  to^seek  refuge  in  France,  and  while  living  with  Lord 
Jermyn,  in  the  Louvre,   began   his   "  heroic  poem "   of 
"  Gondibert,"  sending   the    manuscript  to   Hobbes  ("  of 
Malmesbury")  as  he  wrote  it.     His  restless  spirit  soon 
wearying  of  inaction,  he  resolved  to  found  a  settlement 
in  the  loyal  colony  of  Virginia  ;  but  the  ship  in  which  he 
had  embarked  was  captured  by  one  of  the  Parliament's 
men-of-war,  and  he  was  lodged  in  prison  at  Cowes  Castle, 
in  the  Isle  of  Wight*    There  he  continued  his  poetical 
magnum  opus,  of  which  Waller  sang  in  complimentary 

phrase  :—    __ ^^^^  ^^  ^^.^  ^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^  ^^  monsters  swell, 
But  hrnntin  pas -ions  such  aa  with  ns  dwell; 
Man  is  thy  thcmi-.  his  virtue  or  his  racro,  ^^ 
Drawn  to  the  life  in  each  elaborate  pase." 

.  It    •  „vi„„f  ;=  na  fnllnwi! — "  H'"  liii'l  "■^  infienions 

•  Aubrey's  version  of  the  .nc.dcnt  >9  »«'"''""'  .     weavors,  from  France 

design  to  carry  a  certain  "'unber  of  '^''^;;'^\^Z^^^r^ot  ta^ur  from  the 

to  Virginia,  and  by  Mary,  the  qneen  ^'^"'^"^''^'^'XTo.^;  so  when  the  poor 
Kin- c,f  France  to  go  mto  the  prmon  and  p.ck  ana  cnoo^^^  ^^^^^ 

wretches  un<lerstood  what  h,s  ^^f.  "^fe*'  tf^y'si.  as  I  re.nember, 
tissorans  '  (We  are  all  ^^f,^^^t>„  .^^^''^^"he  w„s  on  his  viyage  to  Virijinia 
and  not  more,  and  shipped  them  ,  au.   as  "oj"         belondnf;  to  the  Parlia- 

jorgotten.     He  was  a  prieoner  at  both. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


117 


He  Ccarried  it  down  to  the  middle  of  tlie  third  book,  and 
as  he  intended  to  have  five  books  answering  to  the  five 
acts  of  a  play,  with  cantos  answering  to  scenes,  he  had 
consequently  finished  one-half .  He  therefore  drew  up  a 
postscript,  in  which  he  says  :  "  I  am  here  arrived  at  the 
middle  of  the  third  book.  But  it  is  high  time  to  strike 
sail  and  cast  anchor,  though  I  have  run  but  half  my 
course,  when  at  the  helm  I  here  am  threatened  with 
Death,  who,  though  he  can  visit  us  but  once,  seems 
troublesome,  and  even  in  the  innocent  may  beget  such  a 
gravity  as  diverts  the  music  of  verse."  Davenant  was 
removed  to  the  Tower,  but  through  the  influence,  as  some 
say,  of  two  Aldermen  of  York,  whom  he  had  once  obliged, 
or,  as  others  say,  of  Milton,  to  whom  he  afterwards  repaid 
the  service  in  kind,  he  escaped  the  punishment  of  high 
treason,  and  though  kept  in  prison  for  two  years,  was 
treated  with  great  indulgence. 

On  his  release  the  indefatigable  wit  planned  the  estab- 
lishment of  a  theatre,  and  in  spite  of  a  world  of  difficulties, 
succeeded  in  opening  Rutland  House,  Charterhouse  Yard, 
on  the  21st  of  May,  1656,  for  what  he  called  "  operas,'^ 
in  which  he  combined  (as  the  elder  Disraeli  puts  it)  "  the 
music  of  Italy  and  the  scenery  of  France."  There  he 
produced,  with  scenic  effects,  illustrative  music,  songs, 
and  choruses,  the  first  part  of  his  ''  Siege  of  Ehodes." 

After  the  Restoration  he  obtained  the  management  of 
the  Duke  of  York's  company  of  players  (which  included 
the  famous  Betterton),  acting  first  at  the  theatre  in 
Portugal  Row,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  and  aferwards  in 
Dorset  Gardens.  A  clause  in  his  patent  sanctioned  a 
great  innovation  :— "  Whereas  the  women's  parts  in  plays 
have  hitherto  been  acted  by  men  in  the  habits  of  women. 


118 


THE   MEKEY   MONARCH  ; 


at  which  some  have  taken  offence,  -xe  do  permit  and  give 
leave  for  the  time  to  come  that  all  women's  parts  be  acted 
by  women  on  the  stage."  For  his  new  company  Davenant 
remodelled  his  "  Siege  of  Ehodes,"  and  also  produced  a 
second  part,  in  which,  instead  of  blank  verse  for  the 
dialogue,     he     adopted    the     French    use     of    rhymed 

couplets. 

"  111  tlie  '  Siege  of  Ehodes;  "  says  Morley,  "  Davenant 
held  by  the  extension  of  that  theory  of  Ilohbes's  to  con- 
tending nations  as  well  as  to  contending  men  of  the  same 
country,  which  he  had  made  the   ground   of  Gondibut's 
ambition  to  subdue  the  world.     His  life  was  too  much 
given  to  low  pleasures,  and  he  was  called  upon  to  enter- 
tain the   frivolous.      If   Davenant  could  have  felt  with 
Milton  that  he  who  would   excel   in  poetry   shoukl  be 
himself  a  poem,  his  genius  had  wings  to  bear  him  higher 
than  he  ever  reached.     Among  the  musical  love-passions 
of  '  The  Siege  of  Rhodes '  he  was  still  aiming  at  some 
embodiment  of  his  thought  that  the  nations  of  Christen- 
dom failed  in  their  work  for  want  of  unity.     They  let  the 
Turks  occupy  Rhodes  because   they  could  not  join  for 
succour.     In  his  dedication  of  the  published  play  to  the 
Earl  of  Clarendon,  Davenant  (referring  with  humour  to 
^the    great  images  represented  in  tragedy  by  Monsieur 
Corneille  ')  says  :  '  In  this  poem  I  have  revived  the  remem- 
brance of  that  desolation  which  was  permitted  by  Christian 
princes,  when   they   favoured  the    ambition  of  such  as 
defended  the  diversity  of  religions  (begot  by  the  factions 
of  learning)  in  Germany ;  whilst  those  who  would  never 
admit  learning  into  their  empire  Gest  it  should  meddle 
with  religion,  and  intangle  it  with  controversy)  did  make 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


119 


Ehodes  defenceless ;  which  was  the  only  fortified  academy 
in   Christendom  where  divinity  and  arms  were  equally 

professed.'  " 

Davenant's  latest  literary  efforts  were  in  an  unfortunate 
direction— the  adaptation  of  Shakespeare  to  the  taste  of 
the  Court  of  Charles  II.  In  these  efforts  he  displayed  not 
only  a  corrupt  task,  but  a  singular  want  of  the  dramatic 
instinct.    He  died  at  the  age  of  63,  on  the  7th  of  April, 

1668. 
In  another  chapter  we  have  had  something  to  say  of 

the  cause  of  Charles  Sackville,  Earl  of  Dorset.  Among 
the  poets  he  claims  notice  as  one  of  the  earliest  of  our 
writers  of  society  verse;  and  probably  no  English 
Anthologies  will  ever  fail  to  include  those  bright,  brisk 
stanzas,  beginning  :— 

"  To  all  you  Ladiea  now  at  land 
We  men  at  sea  indite  ; 
But  first  would  have  you  understand 

How  hard  it  is  to  write : 
The  Muses  now,  and  Neptune,  too, 
We  must  implore  to  write  to  you." 

The  fame  they  enjoyed  well  deserved  their  absolute  and 
genuine  excellence  ;  but  probably  owes  something  to  the 
alleged  romantic  circumstances  of  their  composition. 
They  are  entitled  a  "  Song  written  at  Sea,  in  the  First 
Dutch  War,  1665,  the  Night  before  an  Engagement,'^  the 
engagement  being  supposed  to  be  the  bloody  battle  ofB 
the  coast  of  Suffolk,  fought,  on  the  3rd  June,  between 
the  English  fleet,  under  the  Duke  of  York,  and  the  Dutch 
tinder  Opdam.  But  from  the  diary  of  Pepys  it  is  evident 
that  they  were  written  six  months  before  this  great  sea 
fight,  and  their  connection  with  it  was  an  invention  of 


Itll 


120 


THE    MEERY    MONARCH  ; 


the  poet  Prior.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  fifth  stanza  dis- 
poses of  the  "  night  before  the  battle  "  theory  :— 

•*  Should  foggy  Opdam  chance  to  know 

Our  sad  and  dismal  story, 
The  Dutch  would  scorn  so  weak  a  foe, 

And  quit  their  fort  at  Goree, 
For  what  resistance  can  they  find 
From  men  whoVe  left  their  hearts  behind  ?  " 

The  Earl's  literary  performance  was  not  equal  to  his 
literary  promise.  He  had  a  fine  taste,  much  skill  in  com- 
position, and  abundant  leisure ;  but  he  accomplished  little. 
A  few  satires,  more  remarkable  for  violence  than  vigour, 
and  a  few  graceful  songs,  are  all  that  bear  his  name. 
When  Prior  asserts  that,  "  there  is  a  lustre  in  his  verses 
like  that  of  the  sun  in  Claude  Lorraine's  landscapes,"  his 
language  is  that  of  a  friend,  not  of  a  critic.  All  that  can 
truly  be  said  of  them  is  that  neither  in  polish  nor  point 
are  they  deficient.  A  characteristic  specimen  of  Lord 
Dorset's  verse,  and  of  the  kind  of  verse  that  pleased  his 
contemporaries,  is  found  in  the  following  song  :— 

"  Dorinda's  sparkling  wit  and  eyes 
United  cast  too  fierce  a  light, 
Which  blazes  high,  but  quickly  dies, 
Pains  not  the  heart,  bu  Jiurts  the  sight. 

Love  is  a  calmer,  gentler  joy, 

Smooth  are  his  looks,  and  soft  his  pace  ; 

Her  Cupid  is  a  blackguard  boy, 

That  runs  his  liuk  full  in  your  face." 

Lord  Dorset  was  a  generous  patron  of  literature,  and 
literary  men,  who,  by  the  way,  have  never  fared  so  well  ia 
Endand  as  durincr  the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth  and 
the  first  half  of  the  eighteenth  centuries.  He  assisted 
almost  all  the  poets  of  his  time,  from  Waller  to  Pope,  and 
counted  among  his  intimates  and  friends  "  glorious  John  " 
and  "  Matt  Prior."     His  clear  judgment  recognised  the 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


121 


trenchant  wit  and  profuse  power  of  Butler's  "  Hudibras," 
which  he  helped  to  make  popular  at  Court.  He  loved  to 
gather  round  him  a  brilliant  circle  of  men  of  letters  at 
Knowle,  his  seat  near  Sevenoaks,  where  Shadwell  wrote 
his  best  comedy.  A  pleasant  story  is  told  of  one  of  their 
symposia,  whereat  it  had  been  agreed  that  each  person 
present  should  write  an  impromptu,  and  that  Dryden 
should  decide  which  was  the  best.  While  the  others  were 
laboriously  cudgelling  their  brains,  Dorset  penned  only  a 
line  or  two,  and  threw  his  paper  towards  the  judge,  who, 
on  reading  it,  easily  obtained  the  assent  of  the  company 
to  his  decision  in  its  favour.  For  it  ran  thus :— "  I  pro- 
mise to  pay  Mr.  John  Dryden,  or  order,  £500  on  demand. 
Dorset."  This  was  a  golden  impromptu,  about  the  merits 
of  which  there  could  be  no  mistake. 

Pope  speaks  of  this  accomplished  nobleman  as  ''the 
grace  of  courts,  the  muses'  pride ; "  ^  and  Horace  Walpole 
says,  "  he  was  the  first  gentleman  in  the  voluptuous  court 
of  Charles  II.,  and  in  the  gloomy  one  of  King  William. 
He  had  as  much  wit  as  his  first  master,  or  his  contem- 
poraries Buckingham  and  Rochester,  without  the  King's 
want  of  feeling,  the  duke's  want  of  principle,  or  the  earl's 

want  of  thought." 

When  Dorset  became  William  III.'s  Lord  Chamberlain 
in  1689,  one  of  the  first  acts  which  official  duty  imposed 
upon  him  was  peculiarly  painful  to  a  man  of  his  generous 
sympathies,  a  man  so  loyal  to  his  humblest  friends. 
Dryden  could  no  longer  remain  poet-laureate.  He  was 
not  only  a  Papist,  but  an  apostate,  and  the  country  would 
not   have  him  among  the   subjects  of  their  Majesties. 

*  "  Blest  courtier,  who  could  Kin^?  and  country  please, 
Yet  sacred  keep  his  friendship  and  his  ease." 


i 


I   '  m* 


1  .ii| 


122 


THE   MEKEY   MONARCH; 


"  He  had  a^i^ravated  tlie  guilt  of  Ms  apostasy  by  calum- 
niating and  ridiculing  the  Church  \vhich  he  had  deserted. 
He  had,  it  was  flicetiously  said,  treated  her  as  the  Pagan 
persecutors  of  old  treated  her  children.  He  had  dressed 
her  up  in  the  skin  of  a  wild  beast ;  and  then  baited  her 
for  the  public  anmsement."  Accordingly,  he  was  deprived 
of  his  place ;  but  the  bounty  of  Dorset  bestowed  on  him  a 
pension  equal  in   amount  to  the  salary  which  he  had 

lost.^ 

It  must  be  owned  that  the  aristocracy  of  seventeenth 
century  England  was,  whatever  its  faults,  an  aristocracy 
of  culture  ;  its  members  loved  literature  with  a  generous 
affection,  clierished  men  of  letters  with  a  fervour  which 
had  no  humiliation  in  it,  and  themselves  wooed  the  Muse 
with  ardour  and  not  wholly  without  success.f  Among 
these  noble  poets  I  own  to  a  particular  respect  for  Went- 
worth  Dillon,  Earl  of  Eoscommon,  upon  whom  Pope  has 
bestowed  no  common  eulogium  : — 

"111  all  Charles's  (lays 

Koscommon  only  boasts  unspotted  lays." 

His  judgment  was  sound  and  clear,  his  taste  accurate, 
and  he  wrote  with  ease  and  smoothness,  if  not  w^ith  any 
degree  of  fervour  or  with  any  of  the  passion  of  genius. 
The  nephew  and  godson  of  the  great  Earl  of  Straftbrd,  he 

*  An  ill-natnred  allusion  to  Dryden's  reception  of  this  beneficence  occurs 
in  Blackmore's  ponderous  "  Prince  Arthur  "  :— 

"Sakil's  high  roof,  the  Muses'  palace,  rung 
With  endless  airs,  and  endless  songs  he  sung. 
To  bless  good  Sakil  Laurus  would  be  first; 
But  Sakii's  prince  and  Sakil's  God  he  curst. 
Sakil  without  distinction  thifw  liis  bread, 
Disi>ise(l  the  flatterer,  but  the  poet  fed.  . 

"  Sakil  "of  course  is  Sackville;  and  "  Laurus  ''  .^^T^en .-either  in  al^- 
Bion  to  the  lost  Laureateship,  or  as  a  translation  of  his  celebrated  nickname 

JBayes. 

+  So  Lord  Mul grave  wrote :  ,       .  ^^i 

"Withouthis  song  no  fop  is  to  be  foond/'-but  all  the  emgers  were  not 

fops. 


\ 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


123 


was  born  in  1633.     At  the  age  of  ten,  while  receiving  his 
education  at  the  Protestant  College  at  Caen,  he  succeeded 
to  his  father's  title.     He  remained  abroad  and  travelled 
in  Italy  till  the  Restoration,  when  he  was  made  captain  of 
the  company  of  Gentlemen   Pensioners,    and   afterwards 
Master  of  the  Horse  to  the  Duchess  of  York.     The  evil 
influence  of  the  Court  led  him  to  a  temporary  indulgence 
at  the  gaming-table;  but  his  sound  sense  prevailed.     He 
married,  and  devoted  his  leisure  to  literary  pursuits.     On 
the  Continent  he  had  acquired  a  taste  for  French  poems ;  * 
and  he  studied  with  much  devotion    Boileau's    ''  L'Art 
Poetique,"  in  which  the   canons  of  a  frigid  criticism  are 
applied  to  the  poet's  inspired   work.     In  conjunction  with 
Dryden,  he  meditated  a  scheme  for  establishing  in  England 
an  Academy  like  that  which  in  France  has  exercised  a 
considerable  influence  over  the  world  of  letters.     In  1681 
he  published  an  "  Essay  on  Translated  Yerse,"  which  may 
be   held  to  entitle   him   to   the   name  of  ''the   English 
Boileau;"  and  in  1684  he  put  his  principles  into  practice 
in  a  translation  of  Horace's  "  Art  of  Poetry."     He  trans- 
lated also   a  part  of  Guarini^s  "  Pastor  Fido,"  Yirgil's 
Sixth  Eclogue,  one  or  two  Odes  of  Horace,  and  the  old 
Latin  hymn,  "  Dies  Iraj."     The    national  unrest  due  to 
the  arbitrary  measures  of  James  II.  inspired  him  with 
apprehensions  of  civil  war,  and  he  prepared  to  retire  to 
Eome    saying  it  was  best  to  sit  near  the  chimney  when 
the  chamber  smoked.     But  an  attack  of  gout  prevented 
his   departure,  and  he  died   in  London  on  the  17th  of 
January,  1685,  while  still  in  the  prime  of  manhood.     "At 

*  Yet  was  he  not  at  all  narrow  in  his  poetical  sympathies  ;  he  was  one  of 
the  first  Eni^lish  critics  to  do  justice  to  the  sublimity  of  Milton.  We  may 
infer  that  though  he  wished  to  introduce  Academic  exactness,  it  was  not  at 
the  expense  of  any  of  the  essential  characteristics  of  the  English  genius. 


j^24  THE   MERRY    MONARCH  ; 

the  moment  in  which  he  expired,"  says  Johnson,  « he 
uttered  with  an  energy  of  voice  that  expressed  the  most 
fervent  devotion,  two  lines  of  his  own  version  of  '  Dies 

'  'My  God,  my  Father,  and  my  Friend, 

Do  not  forsake  me  in  my  end  ! '" 

That  lie  could  write  with  force  and  terseness  the  fol- 
lowing extract  will  show  : — 

"  Oq  sure  foundations  let  your  fabric  rise, 
And  with  attractive  majesty  surprise  ; 
Not  by  affected,  meretricious  arts, 
But  strict  harmonious  symmetry  of  parts, 
While  through  the  whole  inseusibly  must  pass, 
With  vital  heat  to  animate  the  mass ; 
A  pure,  an  active,  an  auspicious  dame, 
And  bright  as  heaven,  from  where  the  blessmg  came ; 
But  few,  few  spirits,  pre-ordained  by  fate, 
The  race  of  gods,  have  reached  tliat  envied  height ; 
No  rebel  Titan's  sacrilegious  crime, 
By  heaping  hills  on  hills,  can  thither  climb. 
The  grizzly  ferryman  of  hell  denied 
^neas  entrance,  till  he  knew  his  guide  ; 
How  justly  then  will  impious  mortals  fall. 
When  pride  would  soar  to  heaven  without  a  call? 
Pride,  of  all  others  the  most  dangerous  fault,       ^^ 
Proceeds  from  want  of  sense  or  want  of  thought. ' 

It  is  something  of  surprise  to  find  a  writer  in  Charles 
IL's  reign  putting  forward  a  plea  on  behalf  of  decency  :- 

"  Immodest  words  admit  of  no  defence, 
For  want  of  decency  is  want  of  sense. 
What  moderate  fops  would  rake  the  park  or  stews. 
Who  among  troopsof  faultless  nymphs  may  choose  7 
Variety  of  such  is  to  be  found ; 
Take  then  a  subject  proper  to  expound. 
But  moral,  great,  and  worth  a  poet's  voice  ; 
For  most  of  sense  despise  a  trivial  choice: 
And  such  applause  it  must  expect  to  meet, 
As  would  some  painter  busy  in  a  street 
To  copy  bulls  and  bears,  and  every  sign  ^^ 
That  calls  the  staring  sots  to  musty  wine." 

Another  poet-peer  who  claims  our  notice  is  John  Wil- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


125 


mot,  Earl  of  Eochester,  who,  in  his  saner  moments  and 
happier  moods,  could  sing  with  a  grace  and  sweetness  not 
surpassed  by  any  of  his  intimate  contemporaries.  Had 
those  moods  and  moments  been  more  frequent  and  of 
longer  duration  he  must  have  attained  a  high  place  among 
English  poets  of  the  second  rank.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it  that 
a  man  of  such  fine  endowments  should  have  yielded  them 
up  to  the  devils  of  lust  and  intemperance  !  What  can  be 
more  tender  or  delightful  than  the  following  ''  swallow- 
flio-ht  of  song  ?  "  It  wants  the  peculiar  quaintness  of  the 
Elizabethans,  but  has  a  charm  of  its  own  which  it  is  im- 
possible to  resist  :— 

"  My  dear  Mistress  has  a  heart 

Soft  as  those  kind  looks  she  gave  me ; 
When,  with  love's  resistless  art. 

And  her  eyes,  she  did  enslave  me ; 
But  her  constancy's  so  weak, 

She's  so  wild  and  apt  to  wander, 
That  my  jealous  heart  would  break 
Should  we  live  one  day  asunder. 

Melting  joys  about  her  move, 

Killing  pleasures,  wounding  blisses, 
She  can  dress  her  eyes  in  love, 

And  her  lips  can  arm  with  kisses ; 
Angels  listen  when  she  speaks, 

She's  my  delight,  all  mankind's  wonder, 
But  my  jealous  heart  would  break 

Should  we  live  one  day  asunder." 

This  is  one  of  those  songs  which  sing  themselves.     In 
the  following  we  note  the  unusual  strain  of  pathos : — 

**  Absent  from  thee  I  languish  still, 
Then  ask  me  not,  when  I  return  ? 
The  straying  fool  'twill  plainly  kill 
To  wish  all  day,  all  night  to  mourn. 

Dear,  from  thine  arms  thou  let  me  fly, 

That  my  fantastic  mind  may  prove 
The  torments  it  deserves  to  try, 

That  tear  my  fixed  heart  from  my  love 


226  THE    MEERY   MONARCH  ; 

When,  wearied  with  a  world  of  woe, 

To  thy  safe  bosom  I  retire, 
Where  love  and  peace  and  honour  grow, 

May  I  contented  there  expire. 
Lest  once  more  wandering  from  that  heaven, 

I  false  on  some  base  heart  unblest, 
Faithless  to  thee,  false,  unforgiven. 

And  lose  my  everlasting  rest." 

« Witli  Eochester,"   says  Mr.  Gosse.   "  the  power  of 
writing  songs  died  in  England  until  the  age  of  Blake  and 
Burns.     Ho  was  the  last  of  the  Cavalier  lyrists,  and  in 
some  respects  the  best.     In  the  qualities  that  a  song  de- 
mands,  simplicity,    brevity,  pathos   and   tenderness,  he 
arrives  nearer  to  pure  excellence  than  any  one  between 
Carew  and  Burns.     His  style  is  without  adornment,  and, 
save  in  this  one  matter  of  song-writing,  he  is  weighed 
down  by  the  dryness  and  inefficiency  of  his  age.     But  by 
the  side  of  Sedley  or  of  Congreve  he  seems  as  fresh  as  by 
the  side  of  Dryden  he  seems  light  and  flowing,  turning 
his  trill  of  song  brightly  and  sweetly,  with  the  consum- 
mate artlessness  of  true  art.      Occasionally,  he  is_  sur- 
prisin-ly  like  Donne  in  the  quaint  force  and  ingenuity  of 
his  ima-cs.     But  the  fact  is  that  the  muse  of  Rochester 
resembres  nothing  so  much  as  a  beautiful  child  which  has 
wantonly  rolled  itself  in  the  mud,  and  which  has  grown  so 
dirty   that  the  ordinary  wayfarer  would  rather  pass  it 
hurriedly  by,  than  do  justice  to  its  native  charms." 

Eochester's  satires  are  not  deficient  in  vigour  and  keen- 
ness •  but  their  filthiness  renders  them  unquotable.  I 
have' no  fancy  for  wading  through  a  sewer  on  the  chance 
of  picking  up  a  piece  of  silver.  His  poem  on  «  Nothing 
is  in-enious;  and  some  happy  characterisation  is  to  be 
found  in  the  "  Trial  of  the  Poets  for  the  Bays,"  a  satirical 
poem  after  the  manner  of   Suckling's  "  Session  of   the 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


127 


Poets."  The  writers  brought  on  the  stage  are — Drjden, 
Etherege,  Wycherley,  Shadwell,  Settle,  Otway,  Mrs. 
Behn,  Tom  D'Urfey,  and  Betterton— to  the  hist  of  whom 
the  bays  are  ironically  given.  Rochester  also  wrote,  or, 
more  correctly  speaking,  travestied  from  Fletcher,  the 
tragedy  of  "  Valentiuian." 

Yet  another  poet  pen  flourished  in  these  days  of  aristo- 
cratic culture,  John  Sheffield,  Earl  of  Malgrave,  Marquis 
of  Normanby,  and  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire   (to  name 
at  once  his  three  stages  in  the  peerage),  who  outlived 
most  of  his  contemporaries,  and  died  at  the  age  of  seventy 
in  the  reign  of  George  I.     He  was  born  in  1G49.     At  the 
age  of  seventeen,  he  volunteered  to  serve  at  sea  against 
the   Dutch.       "He    passed   six   weeks    on  board,"  says 
Macaulay,  ^'  diverting  himself,  as  well  as  he  could,  in  the 
society  of  some  young  libertines  of  rank,  and  then  re- 
turned home  to  take  the  command  of  a  troop  of  horse. 
After  this  he  was  never  on  the  water  till  1672,  when  he 
again  joined   the    fleet,   and    was    almost    immediately 
appointed   captain   of    a   ship   of    8i   guns    [the   Royal 
Catherine],  reputed  the  finest  in  the  navy.     He  was  then 
twenty-three  years  old,  and  had  not,  in  the  whole  course 
of  his  life,  been  three  months  afloat.     As  soon  as  he  came 
back  from  sea  he  was  made  Colonel  of  a  regiment  of  foot. 
This,"  adds  the  historian,  "  is  a  specimen  of  the  manner 
in  which  naval  commands  of  the  highest  importance  were 
then  given;  and  a  very  favourable  specimen;  for  Mul- 
grave,  though  he  wanted  experience,  wanted  neither  parts 
nor  courage." 

To  gain  some  knowledge  of  war,  he  entered  the  French 
service,  and  made  a  campaign  under  Turenne^  in  which 
his  bravery  was  conspicuous.     He  afterwards  commanded 


128 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


the  forces  defending  Tangier   against   the   Moors,   and 
during  the  expedition   (1680)   wrote  his  poem  of   "The 
Vision/'  characterised  by  Johnson  as  a  licentious  poem,, 
with  little  power  of  invention  or  propriety  of  sentiment. 
He  became  a  member  of  the  Privy  Council  of  James  II., 
who  appointed  him  governor  of  Hull  and  Lord  Chamber- 
lain ;  and  he  proved  his  loyalty  by  giving  the  king  much 
sound  and  sensible  advice,  which  the  king  never  followed. 
He  acquiesced  in  the  Revolution  of  1 G88,  though  at  first 
he  refused  office  under  the  new  Government.     It  is  to  his 
honour  that  he  signed  the  protest  of  some  of  the  peers 
against  the   Bill,  in   1693,  for  instituting  a   censorship 
of  the  Press  ;  and  in  the  same  session  he  opposed,  with 
all  the  force  of  his  eloquence,  the  Bill  for  the  regulation 
of  Trials  in  cases  of   High  Treason.       Though   created 
Marquis  of  Normanby,  with  a  pension  of  £3,000  a  year, 
he   maintained   his   independence;    and  among   the  op- 
ponents of  the  harsh  and  ail)itrary  measure  known  as  Sir 
John  Fenwick's  Attainder  Bill  none  was  more  persever- 
ingly  active.       On  the  accession  of  Queen  Anne,  whose 
lover  he  had  at  one  time  been,  he  was  distinguished  with 
special  favour,  made  Lord  of  the  Privy  Seal,  and  created 
Duke  of  Buckinghamshire.     He  was  president  of  council, 
and  one  of  the  Lords  Justices  in  Great  Britain ;  but  when 
George  I.  succeeded  to  the  throne,  he  threw  himself  into 
active  opposition  to  the  Court.     His  death  took  place  on 
the  24th  of  February,  1720.     He  was  interred  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  where  his  epitaph,  written  by  himself, 
unblushingly  proclaims  that  he  lived  and  died  a  sceptic. 

His  Tory  politics  will  account  for  the  strain  of  bitter- 
ness that  runs  through  Macaulay's  character  of  this  able 
statesman  :   "  Mulgrave  wrote  verses  which  scarcely  ever 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


129 


rose  above  absolute  mediocrity  ;  but  as  he  was  a  man  of 
high  note  in  the  political  and  fashionable  world,  these 
verses  found  admirers.     Time  dissolved  the  charm,  but, 
unfortunately  for  him,  not  until  his  lines  had  acquired  a 
prescriptive  right  to  a  place  in  all  collections  of  the  works 
of  English  poets.     To  this  day,  accordingly,  his  insipid 
essays  in  rhyme  and  his  paltry  songs  to  Amoretta  and 
Gloriana   are    reprinted    in   company  with   Comus    and 
Alexander's  Feast.     The  consequence  is  that  our  genera- 
tion  knows  Mulgrave  chiefly  as  a  poetaster,  and  despised 
him  as  such.     In  truth,  however,  he  was,  by  the  acknow- 
ledgment of  those  who  neither  loved  nor  esteemed  him, 
a  man  distinguished  by  fine  parts,  and  in  parliamentary 
eloquence  inferior  to  scarcely  any  orator  of  his  time.    His 
moral  character  was  entitled  to  no  respect.     He  was  a 
Hbertine  without  that  openness  of  heart  and  hand  which 
sometimes  makes    libertinism    amiable,  and  a  haughty 
aristocrat  without  that   elevation   of    sentiment  which 
sometimes  makes  aristocratical  haughtiness  respectable. 
The  satirists  of  the  age  nicknamed  him  Lord  Allpride, 
and  pronounced  it  strange  that  a  man  who  had  so  exalted 
a  sense  of  his  dignity  should  be  so  hard  and  niggardly  in 
aU  pecuniary  dealings." 

I  venture  to  think  more  highly  than  does  the  brilliant 
historian  of  the  Duke's  literary  qualifications.  He  writes 
with  vigour  and  perspicuity,  and  his  canons  of  criticism 
are  just  and  sensible.  His  two  principal  works  are-an 
*^  Essay  on  Satire,"  pubHshed  in  1675,  and  his  ''Essay  on 
Poetry,^^— the  latter  a  kind  of  Ars  Poetica,  published 
anonymously  in  1682,  and  enlarged  and  revised,  with 
some  touches  by  Pope,  in  1691.  It  is  written  in  the 
heroic  couplet,  and  was  warmly  commended  by  Pope  and 

VOL.  II. 


I  J" 


130 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


Eoscommon  and  Drjden.    Not  a  few  of  its  lines  have 
become  familiar  quotations,  as,  for  example : — 

"Fancy  is  but  the  feather  of  the  pen  ; 
Keason  is  that  substantial,  useful  part 
Which  gains  the  head  ;  while  t'other  wins  the  heart.'* 

'*  Of  all  those  arts  in  which  the  wise  excel. 
Nature's  chief  master-piece  is  writing  well.** 

"  True  wit  is  everlasting  like  the  sun, 
Which,  though  sometimes  belund  a  cloud  retired, 
Breaks  out  again,  and  is  by  all  admired." 

"  Read  Homer  once,  and  you  can  read  no  more, 
For  all  books  else  appear  so  mean,  so  poor, 
Verse  will  seem  prose  ;  but  still  persist  to  read, 
And  Homer  will  be  all  the  books  you  need." 

Like  Rochester,  Mulgrave  indulged  in  a  squib  against 
contemporary  poets  and  poetasters.  In  1719,  on  the 
appointment  of  Eusden  to  the  post  of  poet  laureate,  he 
published  the  satire  of  "  The  Election  of  a  Laureate,"  in 
which  he  introduced  Blackmore,  Congreve,  Lansdowne, 
Bishop  Atterbury,  Philips,  Gay,  Cibber,  D'Urfey,  Prior, 
and  Pope.     It  concludes  thus  : — 

"At  last  in  rushed  Eusden,  and  cried,  'Who  shall  have  it, 
But  I,  the  true  laureat,  to  whom  the  King  gave  it?' 
Apollo  begged  pardon,  and  granted  his  claim, 
But  vowed,  though,  till  then  he'd  ne'er  heard  of  his  name." 

Mulgrave  had  the  good  sense  and  the  good  taste  to 
rank  Shakespeare  and  John  Fletcher  before  all  other 
Eno-lish  dramatists ;  but  in  later  life  his  good  sense  and 
good  taste  deserted  him,  partly  through  the  influence  of 
French  criticism,  and  partly  perhaps  through  the  strength 
of  his  political  prejudices,  and  he  undertook  a  revision  of 
Shakespeare's  ''  Julius  Caesar."  A  believer  in  the  gospel 
of  the  unities,  he  was  shocked  by  the  boldness  with  which 
Shakespeare  treats  time  and  place,  and  proceeded  to  re- 
construct Shakespeare's  great  historical  drama  on  the 


OR^  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


131 


model  of  a  French  tragedy.  The  result  was  seen  in  two 
plays  instead  of  one,  "  Julius  Caesar  '^  and  "  Marcus 
Brutus,"  each  ending  with  a  denunciation  of  the  Roman 
hero's  act  of  tyrannicide.  The  audacious  adapter  ventured 
even  to  meddle  with  Shakespeare's  language,  and  trans- 
lated the  fine,  terse,  and  pregnant  line,  "  The  good  is  oft 
interred  with  their  bones,"  into  '^  The  good  is  often  buried 
in  their  graves  " — an  alteration  which  throws  a  startling 
light  on  the  noble  author's  want  of  true  poetical  percep- 
tion. 

Among  the  crowd  of  aristocratic  poets  whom  the 
Restoration  warmed  into  activity  one  of  the  most  refined 
and  graceful  was  Sir  Charles  Sedley,  the  friend  of  Dorset 
and  Roscommon  and  Dryden,  and  the  ^^  Lisideius "  of 
Dryden's  "  Essay  of  Dramatic  Poesie."  He  was  born  at 
Aylesford,  in  Kent,  in  1G39.  His  mother  was  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  Sir  Henry  Saville,  the  learned  provost  of 
Eton,  whose  talents  and  love  of  scholarship  she  seems 
to  have  inherited.^  At  the  age  of  seventeen,  young 
Sedley,  already  distinguished  by  his  intellectual  gifts, 
entered  Wadham  College,  Oxford,  but  left  the  University 
without  taking  a  degree,  and  went  abroad.  He  returned 
to  England  at  the  Restoration,  and  about  1667  found 
his  way  to  Court,  where  the  grace  of  his  address  and 
the  charm  of  his  conversation  soon  made  him  "  the 
observed  of  all  observers."  With  the  King  he  was  a 
great  favourite,  and  among  the  beauties  and  wits  that 
assembled  in  the   gay   circle  at  Whitehall  no  one  was 


*  Compare  Waller's  epitaph : — 

"  Here  lies  the  learned  Saville's  heir, 
So  early  wise,  and  lasting  fair, 
That  none,  except  her  years  they  told, 
Thought  her  a  child,  or  thought  her  old." 


132 


THE  MEEET  MONAECH  ; 


more  popular.  Sliadwell  says  of  him  that  he  would 
speak  more  wit  at  a  supper  than  all  his  adversaries  could 
have  written  in  a  year.  Pepys  tells  us  that  to  sit  near 
him  at  the  theatre,  and  hear  his  comments  on  a  new 
play,  was  an  intellectual  treat.  It  was  gracefully  said  by 
the  King  that  "  Nature  had  given  him  a  patent  to  be 

Apollo's  Viceroy." 

His  love-verses  are  bright,  vivacious,  and  graceful. 
They  are  free  from  the  indelicate  expressions  which 
offend  us  as  those  of  Suckling  or  Kochester,  but  it  cannot 
be  pretended  that  they  are  purer  in  sentiment.  His 
muse  is  attired  in  the  garb  of  a  courtezan,  but  the 
courtezan  is  a  Lais  or  a  Phryne,  and  not  a  common 
street-walker.  Whether  she  is  less  dangerous  may  weU  be 
doubted.  The  sober  Evelyn  couples  him  with  Etherege  :— 

"  But  gentle  Etherege  and  Sedley's  Muse 
Warm  the  coy  maid,  and  melting  love  infuse." 

And  to  this  evil  power  of  stimulating  the  imagination, 
while  assuming  a  mask  of  decency,  Rochester  alludes  :- 

"For songs  and  verses,  mannerly  obscene, 
That  can  stir  nature  up  by  springs  unseen ; 
And,  without  forcing  blushes,  warm  the  queen— 
Sedley  has  that  prevailing,  gentle  art. 
That  can,  with  a  resistless  charm,  impart 
The  loosest  wishes  to  the  chastest  heart ; 
Eaise  such  a  conflict,  kindle  such  a  fire 
Between  declining  virtue  and  desire ; 
Till  the  poor  vanquished  maid  dissolves  away 
In  dreams  all  night,  and  sighs  and  tears  all  day." 

This  fascinating  sweetness  is  designated  by  Bucking- 
ham "  Sedley's  witchcraft,"  though  it  would  seem  to 
have  been  more  apparent  to  his  contemporaries  than  it 
is  to  the  critics  of  a  soberer  day.  That  he  could,  at  will, 
write  with  elegance  and  yet  without  offending  the  most 


OE,  ENGLAND  TNDEE  CHARLES  II. 


133 


fastidious  taste,  I  readily  admit.    Take  tlie  following  song 
as  a  specimen  : — 

*♦  Ah,  Cliloris,  that  I  now  could  sit 
As  unconcerned  as  when 
Your  infant  beauty  could  beget 
No  pleasure,  nor  no  pain  ! 

"When  I  the  dawn  used  to  admire 

And  praised  the  coming  day; 
I  little  thought  the  growing  fire 

Must  take  my  rest  away. 

Your  charms  in  harmless  childhood  lay, 

Like  metals  in  the  mine, 
Age  from  no  face  took  more  away 

Than  youth  concealed  in  thine. 

But  as  your  charms  insensibly 

To  their  perfection  prest, 
Fond  love  as  unperceived  did  fly, 

And  in  my  bosom  rest, 

My  passion  with  your  beauty  grew, 

And  Cupid  at  my  heart, 
Still  as  hia  mother  favoured  you, 

Threw  a  new  flaming  dart. 

Each  gloried  in  their  wanton  part: 

To  make  a  lover,  he 
Employed  the  utmost  of  his  art. 

To  make  a  beauty  she. 

Though  now  I  slowly  bend  to  love, 

Uncertain  of  my  fate, 
If  your  fair  self  my  chains  approve, 

I  shall  my  freedom  hate. 

Lovers,  like  dying  men,  may  well 

At  first  disordered  be, 
Since  none  alive  can  truly  tell 
What  future  they  must  see." 

The  opening  lines  of  another  of  his  songs  have  received 
the  merit-mark  of  imiversal  approbation,  and  to  this  day 
are  quoted : — 

'*  Love  still  has  something  of  the  sea 
From  whence  his  mother  rose." 

Sir  Charles  Sedley's  plays  are  now  known  only  to  the 


134 


THE   MEREY   MONAECH  ; 


scliolar,  and  thougli  they  contain  some  witty  passages 
and  a  felicitous  sketch  or  two  of  character-painting,  they 
are  not  worthy  of  deliverance  from  the  oblivion  into 
which  they  have  fallen.  Their  construction  is  irregular, 
and  they  are  deficient  in  dramatic  interest.  The  tragedy 
of  "Antony  and  Cleopatra"  was  produced  at  the  Duke's 
Theatre  in  1667;  his  comedy  (the  best  of  his  dramatic 
works)  of  ''  The  Mulberry  Garden,"  at  Drury  Lane,  in 
1668;  and  "Bellamira;  or,  The  Mistress,"  at  the  King's 
House  in  1687.  We  are  told  that  "  while  this  play  was 
acting,  the  roof  of  the  play-house  fell  down ;  but  very 
few  were  hurt,  except  the  author,  w^hose  merry  friend, 
Sir  Fleetwood  Shepherd,  told  him  that  there  was  so  much 
fire  in  the  play,  that  it  blew  up  the  poet,  house,  and  all. 
Sir  Charles  answered,  *No;  the  play  was  so  heavy  it 
brought  down  the  house,  and  buried  the  poet  in  his  own 
rubbish.'  "  Sedley  also  wrote  the  tragedy  of  "  Beauty 
the  Conqueror,"  and  two  other  dramas  have,  but  on  no 
good  grounds,  been  ascribed  to  him. 

This  briUiant  wit  and  easy  courtier  was  guilty  on 
one  occasion  of  a  profligacy  so  vile  that  one  is  inclined 
to  attribu  te  it  to  mental  aberration.  He  presented  him- 
self, after  "  a  wild  revel,"  perfectly  naked  in  the  balcony 
of  the  Cock  Tavern,  in  Bow  Street,  and  harangued  the 
crowd  of  porters  and  orange -girls  in  such  profane  and 
indecent  language  that  they  resented  it  with  volleys 
of  stones,  and  compelled  him  and  his  companions  (among 
whom,  unhappily,  was  Buckhurst,  afterwards  Earl  of 
Dorset)  to  retire.  For  this  shameful  exploit  they  were 
brought  before  the  Court  of  Common  Pleas,  and  heavily 
fined,  Sir  Charles  Sedley's  penalty  being  not  less  than 
£500.    The  Lord  Chief  Justice,  Sir  Robert   Hyde,  sar- 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


135 


castically  inquired  of  the  dissolute  wit  if  he  had  ever 
read  ^'The  Complete  Gentleman?"*  ''1  believe,"  he 
replied,  unabashed,  ''  I  have  read  more  books  than  your 
lordship."  It  is  said  that  Sir  Charles  and  his  companions 
eno-ao-ed  Killii^rew  and  another  courtier  to  intercede  with 
the  King  for  a  reduction  of  the  penalty  ;  but,  contrary  to 
the  proverb,  honour  does  not  always  prevail  among 
such  men,  they  obtained  a  grant  of  the  money  for  them- 
selves, and  extorted  it  to  the  last  farthing. 

Another  of  Sedley's  indefensible  pranks  is  related  by 
Oldys  :«_^f  There  was  a  great  resemblance,"  he  says,  "  in 
the  shape  and  features,  between  him  and  Kynaston  the 
actor,   who  once  got   some   laced  clothes   made  exactly 
after  a   suit   Sir   Charles  wore,  who   therefore  got  him 
well   caned.     Sir  Charles's  emissary  pretending   to  take 
Kynaston   for  Sir   Charles,   quarrelled  with   him  in   St. 
James's  Park,  and  beat  him  as  Sir  Charles.      When  some 
of  his  friends,  in  pity  to  the  man,  reproved  Sir  Charles  for 
it,  he  told  them  that  they  misplaced  their  pity,  and  that  it 
was  himself  they  should  bestow  it  on ;  that  Kynaston's 
bones  would  not  suffer  as  much  as  his  reputation  ;  for  all 
the   town  believed  it   was  him  that   was  thrashed,  and 
suffered  such  a  public  disgrace." 

It  seems  to  be  generally  agreed  that,  after  his  mad 
orgie  at  the  Cock  Tavern,  Sedley  adopted  a  more  serious 
mode  of  life,  and  began  to  take  an  active  interest  in  public 
affairs.  As  member  for  Eomney,  in  Kent,  he  took  a 
frequent  part  in  the  debates  in  the  House  of  Commons, 
and  by  his  eloquence  and  vivacity  obtained  a  considerable 
influence.  During  the  reign  of  James  II.  he  distinguished 

*  Henry  Peacham's  book,  published  in  1622,  of  which  a  new  edition  had 
appeared  in  16G1. 


136 


THE   MEREY  MONARCH 


himself  hj  his  vigorous  opposition  to  the  measures  of  the 
Court.  It  is  true  that  in  this  opposition  he  was  influenced, 
perhaps,  as  much  bj  personal  feelings  as  by  regard  for 
the  public  interest.  Profligate  as  he  was,  or  had  been,  he 
could  not  as  a  father  witness  without  shame  and  indigna- 
tion the  illicit  connection  which  James,  when  Duke  of 
York,  had  formed  with  his  daughter,  the  notorious 
Catherine  Sedlej.*  And  when  he  was  asked  the  reason 
of  his  bitter  antipathy  to  a  king  who  had  loaded  him 
with  favours,  he  replied,  "  I  hate  ingratitude ;  and,  there- 
fore, as  the  king  has  made  my  daughter  a  Countess,  I  will 
endeavour  to  make  his  daughter  a  Queen." 

On  his  accession  to  the  throne,  James  was  reluctantly 
induced,  by  the  advice  of  his  confessors  and  the  remon- 
strances of  his  queen, t  to  dissolve  the  connection ;  though 
he  had  just  shown  tbe  strength  of  his  afffection  by  creating 


»  Catherine  Sedley  was  distinjiniished  by  her  wit  and  accomplishments,  but 
possessed  no  personal  clmrnis,  excej)t  two  brilliant  eyes.  Her  countenance 
was  hajr^rard,  and  her  form  lean.  Charles  II.,  though  he  admired  her  in- 
tellectual gifts,  laughed  at  lier  want  of  comeliness,  and  declared  that  the 
priests  must  liave  recommendiMl  lur  to  liis  brother  by  way  of  penance.  She 
was  too  clever  a  woman  not  to  know  and  own  her  ugliness,  and  affirmed 
that  she  could  not  understand  the  secret  of  James's  passion  for  her.  "  It 
cannot  be  my  beauty,"  she  said,  "  for  he  must  see  that  I  have  none  :  and  it 
cannot  be  my  wit,  for  he  has  not  enough  to  know  that  I  have  any."  Like 
many  plain  women,  she  wns  fond  of  sumptuous  dress,  and  Lord  Dorset  has 
somewhat  coarsely  satirised  the  weakness  which  led  her  to  af^jiear  in  public 
places,  in  all  the  gorgeousness  of  Brussels  lace,  diamonds,  and  paint : — 

"  Tell  me,  Dorinda,  why  so  gay. 

Why  such  embroidery,  fringe,  and  lace  ? 
Can  any  dresses  find  a  way 
To  stop  the  approaches  of  decay, 
And  mend  a  ruined  face  ?  .  .  .  . 

So  have  I  seen  in  larder  dark 

Of  veal  a  lucid  loin, 
Replete  with  many  a  brilliant  spark, 
(As  wise  philosophers  remark) 

At  once  both  stink  ami  shine." 

t  The  intrigues  of  which  she  was  the  author  are  described  at  length  by 
Macaulay.  See  also  Evelyn's  Diary,  under  date  January  19.  1686  ;  Bishop 
Barnet's  History  of  His  Own  Time,  i,  682  ;  and  Rousby's  Memoirs. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


137 


)h 


her  (1686)  Baroness  of  Darlington  and  Countess  of  Dor- 
chester for  life.  She  afterwards  became  the  wife  of  Sir 
David  Coljear,  first  Earl  of  Portmore.  She  died  at  Bath 
in  1717. 

In  the  Parliaments  of  King  William  and  Queen  Mary, 
Sir  Charles  was  generally  on  the  side  of  the  Opposition ; 
and  in  the  session  of  1690  made  one  of  his  best  speeches 
in  condemnation  of  the  large  sums  expended  on  salaries 
and  pensions.  Macaulay  refers  to  it  as  proving,  what  his 
poems  and  plays  might  make  us  doubt,  that  his  contempo- 
raries were  not  mistaken  in  considering  him  as  a  man  of 
parts  and  vivacity.  Gradually,  as  he  advanced  in  years, 
he  withdrew  from  the  political  arena  ;  and  the  public  had 
almost  forgotten  him  at  the  time  of  his  death,  which  took 
place  at  Haverstock  Hill^  on  the  20th  of  August,  1701. 
A  complete  edition  of  his  works,  including  love  songs, 
translations  from  martial  and  other  classic  writers, 
prologues  and  epilogues,  plays  and  speeches,  was  published 
in  the  following  year  by  his  friend  and  kinsman,  Captain 
Ayloff,  who  observes  that  "  he  (Sir  Charles)  was  a  man  of 
the  first  class  of  wit  and  gallantry ;  his  friendship  was 
courted  by  everybody ;  and  nobody  went  out  of  his  com- 
pany but  pleased  and  improved;  Time  added  but  very 
little  to  Nature,  and  he  was  everything  that  an  English 
gentleman  could  be.'^  That  his  powers  were  considerable 
no  one  can  reasonably  doubt.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that 
he  did  not  make  a  worthier  use  of  them. 

The  last  of  the  aristocratic  poets  whom  we  shall  notice 

*  Steele  for  awhile  (1712)  resided  at  this  house.  He  writes  to  Pope  : — 
"  I  am  at  a  solitude,  a  house  between  Hampstead  and  London,  wherein  Sir 
Charles  Sedley  died.  This  circumstance  set  me  a-thinking  and  ruminating 
upon  the  employments  in  which  meu  of  wit  exercise  themselves."  The 
house  was  pulled  down  in  1869,  and  its  site  is  now  occupied  by  Steele 
Terrace. 


1 


138 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


9r 


is  Sir  John  Denliam,  whose  "  chief  claim  to  immortality, 
according;  to  a  recent  critic,  rests  on  the  fine  lines  in  his 
poem  of  "  Cooper's  Hill/'  descriptive  of  the  Thames  :— 

•'  O  could  I  flow  like  thee,  and  make  thy  stream 
My  great  example,  as  it  is  my  theme  ; 
Thoiif^h  deep  yet  clear,  tliough  gentle  yet  not  dull, 
Strong  without  rage,  witliout  o'er  flowing  full.'* 

But  these  are  not  the  only  j^ood  lines  in  a  poem,  which 
had  at  all  events  the  merit  of  being  the  first  of  its  kind 
(for  Ben  Jonson^s  "  Penshurst "  cannot  fairly  be  con- 
sidered of  the  same  category),  which  Dry  den,  with 
exuberant  praise,  declares  "  for  the  majesty  of  its  style 
is,  and  ever  will  be,  the  exact  standard  of  good  writing." 
The  allusion  to  St.  PauPs  (not  Wren's  Cathedral,  but  its 
predecessor)  is  worth  quotation  : — 

"  That  sacred  pile,  so  vast,  so  high, 
That  whether  'tis  a  part  of  earth  or  sky 
Uncertain  seems,  and  may  1  -  thought  a  proud 
Aspiring  mountain  or  descending  cloud." 

The  following  couplet  seems  to  have  suggested  a  passage 
in  Dr.  Johnson's  "  London  "  : — 

"Under  his  proud  surrey  the  city  lies. 
And  like  a  mist  beneath  a  hill  doth  rise, 
Whose  state  and  wealth,  the  business  and  the  crowd. 
Seems  at  this  distance  but  a  darker  cloud, 
And  is  to  him  who  rightly  things  esteems 
Ko  other  in  effect  but  what  it  seems. 
When,  with  like  haste,  though  several  ways,  they  run, 
Some  to  undo,  and  some  to  be  undone  ; 
While  luxury  and  wealth,  like  war  and  peace. 
Are  each  the  other's  ruin  and  increase ; 
As  rivers  lost  in  seas  some  secret  vain 
Thence  reconveys,  then  to  be  lost  again. 
0  happiness  of  sweet  retired  content  ! 
To  be  at  once  secure  and  innocent  I  " 

And  surely  the  impartial  critic  will  own  that  in  these 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


139 


lines — on  the  reformation  and  the  sharp  contrast  between 
Monasticism  and  Puritanism— strength  and  smoothness 
are  not  unhappily  combined  : — 

*'  No  crime  so  bold  but  would  be  understood 
A  real,  or  at  least  a  seeming  good, 
Who  fears  not  to  do  ill,  yet  fears  the  name, 
And,  free  from  conscience,  is  a  slave  to  fame. 
Thus  he  the  Church  at  once  protects  and  spoils  : 
But  princes'  swords  are  sharper  than  their  styles. 
And  thus  to  th'  ages  past  he  makes  amends. 
Their  charity  destroys,  their  faith  defends. 
Then  did  religion  in  a  lazy  cell. 
In  empty,  airy  contemplation  dwell ; 
And  like  the  block  unmoved  lay  ;  but  ours. 
As  much  too  active,  like  the  stork  devours. 
Is  there  no  temperate  region  can  be  known 
Betwixt  their  frigid  and  our  temperate  zone  ? 
Could  we  not  wake  from  that  lethargic  dream, 
But  to  be  restless  in  a  worse  extreme  ? 
And  for  that  lethargy  was  there  no  cure 
But  to  be  cast  into  a  calenture  ? 
Can  knowledge  have  no  abound,  but  must  advance 
So  far,  to  make  us  wish  for  ignorance. 
And  rather  in  the  dark  to  grope  our  way 
Than,  led  by  a  false  guide,  to  err  by  day  !  " 

'^  Cooper's  Hill  "  was  written  in  1640  and  published  in 
1643.'^    It  is  a  poem  of  nearly  four  hundred  lines,  written 

♦  *'  The  epithet,  majestie  Denham,  conferred  by  Pope,  conveys  rather  too 
much  ;  but  Cooper's  Hill  is  no  ordinary  poem.  It  is  nearly  the  first  instance 
of  vigorous  and  rhythmical  couplets,  for  Denham  is  incomparably  less 
feeble  than  Browne,  and  less  prosaic  than  Beaumont.  Close  in  thought, 
and  nervous  in  language  like  Davies,  he  is  less  hard  and  less  monotonous ; 
his  cadences  are  animated  and  various,  perhaps  a  little  beyond  the  regularity 
that  metre  demands  ;  they  have  been  the  guide  to  the  finer  ear  of  Dryden. 
Those  who  cannot  endure  the  philosophic  poetry,  must  ever  be  dissatisfied 
with  Cooper's  Hill  :  no  personification,  no  ardent  words,  few  metaphors 
beyond  the  common  use  of  speech,  nothing  that  warms,  or  melts,  or 
fascinates  the  heart.  It  is  rare  to  find  lines  of  eminent  beauty  in  Denham ; 
and  equally  so  to  be  struck  by  any  one  as  feeble  or  low.  His  language  is 
always  well-chosen  and  perspicuous,  free  from  those  strange  terms  of  ex- 
pression, frequent  in  our  older  poets,  where  the  reader  is  apt  to  suspect 
some  error  of  the  press,  so  irreconcilable  do  they  seem  with  grammar  or 
meaning.  The  expletive  do,  which  the  best  of  his  predecessors  use  freely, 
seldom  occurs  in  Denham  ;  and  he  has  in  other  respects  brushed  away  the 
rust  of  languid  and  ineffective  redundancies  which  have  obstructed  the 
popularity  of  men  with  more  native  genius  than  himself."  —  Hallam, 
*•  Literature  of   Europe,"  iii.,  254,  255. 


140 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


in  the  heroic  couplet,  and  embodies  the  reflections  sug- 
gested to   a  thoughtful  observer  by  the  various  scenes 
which  are  visible  from  the  summit  of  its  author's  "  Mount 
Parnassus."*     These  include  a  long  reach  of  the  winding 
Thames,    the    towers    of    Windsor    Castle,    St.    Paul's 
Cathedral,  and  the  field  of  Runnymede.    The  freshness 
of  the  subject,t  and  the  fluent  strength  of  the  versifica- 
tion,  secured   for  this   poem   an   immediate  popularity. 
Dryden   pronounced   it    "  the   exact    standard   of    good 
writing."      "  This    poem,"     says   Johnson,    "  had   such 
reputation  as   to   excite  the   common  artifice  by  which 
envy  degrades  excellence.     A  report  was  spread  that  the 
performance  was  not  his  own,  but  that  he  had  bought 
it  of  a  vicar  for  forty  pounds."    Pope,  in  his    poem  of 
^'  Windsor  Forest/'   which   "  Cooper's  Hill "    suggested, 
affirms  that  — 

"  On  Cooper's  Hill  eternal  wreaths  shall  grow 

While  lasts  the  mountain,  or  while  Thames  shall  flow;" 

while  Somerville,  in  "  The  Chase,"  calls  upon  us  to  tread 
with  respectful  awe  — 

«  Windsor's  green  glades  ;  where  Denham,  tuneful  bard, 
Charmed  once  the  list'ning  Dryads  with  his  song. 
Sublimely  sweet." 

By  a  natural  law  of  reaction  the  excessive  praise  of  one 
generation  is  succeeded  by  the  extreme  depreciation  of 
another.    Southey  writes  of  Denham  with  great  frigidity : 

*  Cooper's  Hill  lies  about  half-a-mile  to  the  north-west  of  Egham,  where 
the  poet's  father  had  built  for  himself  a  house— (now  the  Vicarage)— *' in 
which  his  son  Sir  John  (though  he  had  better  seats)  took  most  delight. 
The  spot  from  which  the  poet  made  his  survey  is  traditionally  said  to  be 
now  comprised  within  the  grounds  of  Kingswood  Lodge  ;  a  seat  marks  the 

t  Johnson  praises  Denham  as  "  the  author  of  a  species  of  composition 
that  may  be  denominated  local  poetry,  of  which  the  fundamental  subject  la 
Bome  particular  landscape,  to  be  poetically  described,  with  the  addition  of 
such  embellishments  as  may  be  supplied  by  historical  retrospection  or  in- 
cidental meditation." 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


141 


— "  That  Sir  John  Denham  began  a  reformation  in  our 
verse,  is  one  of  the  most  groundless  assertions  that  ever 
obtained  belief  in  literature.  More  thought  and  more 
skill  had  been  exercised  before  his  time  in  the  construc- 
tion of  English  metre  than  he  ever  bestowed  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  by  men  of  far  greater  attainments  and  far  higher 
powers.  To  improve,  indeed,  either  upon  the  versification 
or  the  diction  of  our  great  writers,  was  impossible ;  it  was 
impossible  to  exceed  them  in  the  knowledge  or  in  the 
practice  of  their  art,  but  it  was  easy  to  avoid  the  more 
obvious  faults  of  inferior  authors :  and  in  this  way  he  suc- 
ceeded, just  so  far  as  not  to  be  included  in 

'  The  mob  of  gentlemen  who  wrote  with  ease  ; ' 

nor  consigned  to  oblivion  with  the  'persons  of  quality' 
who  contributed  their  vapid  effusions  to  the  miscellanies 
of  those  days.     His  proper  place  is  among  those  of  his 
contemporaries  and  successors  who  called  themselves  wits, 
and  have  since  been  entitled  wits  by  the  courtesy  of  Eng- 
land.'^     I  venture   to   claim   for  him  a  higher  position. 
Surely  some  hearty  praise  may  be  given  to  a  writer  who 
virtually    introduced  into  our  poetical  literature  a  new 
kind  of  composition,  and  one  peculiarly  adapted  to  the 
tastes    and   sympathies    of   Englishmen?     Surely  some 
hearty  praise  is  justly  due  to  a  writer  who  had  so  strono^ 
a  relish  for  the  beauties  of  landscape,  and  was  so  keenly 
alive  to  the  pastoral  sentiment.     And  though  he  did  not 
begin  "  a  reformation  in  our  verse,''  he  certainly  showed 
how  the  heroic  couplet  might  be  written  with  vigour  while 
not  losing  in  ease. 

Denham's  other  works  include  an  ''  Essay  on  Gaming ; " 
and  a  translation  of  the  second  book  of  "  The  ^neid." 
In  1641,  his  feeble  tragedy  of  ''  The  Sophy  "  was  produced 


142 


THE    MEERY    MONARCH; 


at  a  private  house  in  Blackfriars  with  so  mucli  success 
that  Waller  said  "  he  broke  out  like  the  Irish  rebellion, 
some  ten  thousand  strong,  when  nobody  was  aware,  or 
in  the  least  suspected  it."  The  best  thing  in  it  is  a  Song 
to  Morpheus,  in  the  fifth  Act,  which  is  graceful  and 
pleasing : — 

"  MorpheuB,  the  humble  god,  that  dwells 
In  cottages  and  smoky  cells, 
Hates  gilded  roofs  and  beds  of  down; 
And,  though  he  fears  no  prince's  frown, 
Flies  from  the  circle  of  a  crown. 

Come,  I  say,  thou  powerful  god, 
And  thy  leaden  charming  rod. 
Dipt  in  the  Lethean  lake, 
O'er  his  wakeful  temples  shake, 
Lest  he  should  sleep  and  never  wake. 

Nature,  alas  !  why  art  thou  so 
Obliged  to  thy  n^ro-"*'-*-  foe? 
Sleep,  that  is  thy  uc^l  repast, 
Yet  of  Death  it  bears  a  taste. 
And  both  are  the  same  thing  at  last." 

In  a  satirical  poem,  written  at  a  much  later  date,  in 
imitation  of  Suckling's  «  Session  of  the  Poets,"  occurs  a 
caustic  allusion  to  Denliam's  tragedy  and  poem : 

**  Then  in  came  Denham,  that  limping  old  bard. 

Whose  fame  on  The  Sophy  and  Cooper's  Hill  stands  ; 
And  brought  many  stationers,  who  swore  very  hard, 
That  nothing  sold  better,  except  'twere  his  lands." 


5> 


Denham  also  wrote  "  An  Elegy  on  Abraham  Cowley, 
which  is  full  of  grace,  and  contains  a  happy  reference  to 
the  great  Elizabethan  poets  and  their  immortal  pre- 
decessors : — 

"  Old  Chaucer,  like  the  morning  star  * 
To  us  discovers  day  from  far. 
His  light  those  mists  and  clouds  dissolved 
Which  our  dark  nation  long  involved. 

*  Borrowed  by  Tennyson  in  his  "  Dream  of   Fair  Women,"  where  he 
speaks  of  Chaucer  as  "  the  morning  star  of  song." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.        143 

Next  (like  Aurora)  Spenser  rose. 

Whose  purple  blush  the  day  foreshows; 

The  other  three  with  his  own  fires 

Phoebus,  the  poet's  god,  inspires: 

By  Shakespeare's,  Jonson's,  Fletcher's  lines 

Our  stage's  lustre  Rome's  outshines." 

Denham  also  wrote  a  translation  of  "  Cato  Major,"  and 
a  metrical  version  of  the  Psalms. 

We  turn  from  the  poems  to  the  poet.  Sir  John  Denham 
was  the  son  of  Sir  John  Denham,  Chief  Baron  of  the 
Exchequer  in  Ireland,   who  married  the  daughter  of  the 
Irish  baron  of  Mellofont,  Sir  Garret  More.     He  was  bom 
in  Dublin   in  1615.     When  he  was  two  years  old,  his 
father  was  made  Baron  of  the  English  Exchequer,  and  the 
family  removed  to  England.     In  1631,  young  Denham  was 
entered  a  gentleman  commoner  of  Trinity  College,  Oxford, 
where  "he  was  looked  upon,"  says  Wood,  "as  a  slow' 
dreaming  young  man,  and  more  addicted  to  gaming  than 
study;    they    (his   companions)   could  never   imagine  he 
could  ever  enrich  the  world  with  the  issue  of  his  brain,  as 
he  afterwards  did.'^     After  taking  his  degree  he  entered 
Lincoln^s  Inn,  where  the  dice-box  divided  his  attention 
with  the  desk.    "  He  was  much  rooked  by  gamesters,  and 
fell  acquainted  with  that  unsanctified  crew  to  his  ruin." 
Wood  relates  that  at  this  time,  his  father,  receivino-  cer- 
tain  intimation  of  the  follies  which  enfeebled  Denham's 
life,  addressed  to  him  a  letter  of  strong  but  affectionate 
remonstrance ;  and  that  the  son,  with  unworthy  duplicity, 
composed    and  printed    an    "Essay    against    Gaming," 
which,  being  forwarded  to  the  Chief  Baron,  completely 
lulled  his  suspicions.    The  anecdote  seems  hardly  credible ; 
an  astute  and  veteran  lawyer  would  hardly  be  deceived  by 
so  simple  an  artifice.  Aubrey  relates  another  story,  which 


144 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


seems  to  have  greater  pretensions  to  authenticity.  Den- 
ham,  he  says,  was  generally  temperate  in  drinking ;  but 
"one  time,  when  he  was  a  student  of  Lincohi's  Inn, 
having  been  away  at  the  tavern  with  his  comrades,  late  at 
night^'a  frolic  came  into  his  head,  to  get  a  plasterer's 
brush  and  a  pot  of  ink,  and  blot  out  all  the  signs  between 
Temple  Bar  and  Charing  Cross,  which  made  a  strange 
confusion  the  next  day,  as  it  was  in  June  time  ;  but  it 
happened  that  they  were  discovered,  and  it  cost  him  and 
them  some  moneys.  This,"  adds  Aubrey,  "  I  had  from 
E.  Estcourt,  Esquire,  who  carried  the  ink-pot." 

The  death  of  his  father  soon  afterwards  placed  him  in 
enjoyment  of  a  considerable  fortune,  which  enabled  him  to 
make  a  conspicuous  figure  among  the  wits  and  gentlemen 
of  the  Court.  The  success  of  his  tragedy  of  "  The  Sophy  " 
increased  his  reputation ;  upon  which  a  seal  was  set  by 
the  publication  of  "  Cooper's  Hill."     In  the  civil  troubles 
which  then  convulsed  the  land,    Denham  espoused  the 
loyal  cause  with  grave  enthusiasm,   and  was  entrusted 
with  several  missions  of  deliency  and  importance.    In  1648 
(it  is  said)  he  conveyed  the  young  Duke  of  York  to  France, 
when  he  shared  the  seclusion  of  the  royal  family.     In 
1650,  the  exiled  king  sent  him  on  an  embassy  to  the  King 
of  Poland ;  and  in  1652  appointed  him  Surveyor  of  His 
Majesty's  Buildings— an  office  which,  at  that  time,  was 
equally  without  emoluments  and  without  duties.     Return- 
ino-  to   England  at  the   Restoration,   he   received  both 
honours  and  rewards,  and  made  one  of  the  brilliant  circle 
which  Charles  II.  loved  to   assemble   round  him.     Un- 
fortunately he  was  weak  enough  to  be  beguiled  by  the 
charms   of  the    fair    Miss    Brooke,   whose    beauty   had 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  Duke  of  York.    As  soon 


^ 


f 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


145 


as  she  had  secured  a  position  by  becoming  Lady  Denham,**^ 
she  scrupled  not  to  encourage  the  suit  of  her  royal  lover, 
who,  according  to  Pepys,  followed  her  up  and  down  the 
presence  chamber  "like  a  dog."  Writing  in  1667,  he 
says: — "The  Duke  of  York  is  wholly  given  up  to  his 
new  mistress,  my  Lady  Denham ;  going  at  noon-day  with 
all  his  gentlemen  to  visit  her  in  Scotland  Yard ;  she  de- 
claring she  will  not  be  his  mistress,  as  Mrs.  Price,  to  go  up 
and  down  the  Privy  Stairs." 

His  beautiful  wife's  infidelity  seems  to  have  afflicted 
Sir  John  Denham  with  mental  disorder.  "  He  became 
crazed  for  a  time,"  says  old  Anthony  Wood,  "and  so, 
consequently,  contemptible  among  vain  fops."  Aubrey 
says : — "  This  madness  first  appeared  when  he  went  from 
London  to  see  the  famous  free-stone  quarries  in  Portland, 
in  Dorset.  When  he  came  within  a  mile  of  it,  he  turned 
back  to  London  again,  and  would  not  see  it.  He  went  to 
Hounslow,  and  demanded  rents  of  lands  he  had  sold  many 
years  before ;  but  it  pleased  God  that  he  was  cured  of 
this  distemper,  and  wrote  excellent  verses,  particularly 
on  the  death  of  Abraham  Cowley,  afterwards."  From  a 
letter  preserved  among  the  correspondence  of  Sir  William 
Temple,  we  gather  that  his  insanity  was  of  a  very  mild 
form  (1667) :  "Poor  Sir  John  Denham  is  fallen  to  the 
ladies  also.  He  is  at  many  of  the  meetings,  at  dinners 
talks  more  than  ever  he  did,  and  is  extremely  pleased 
with  those  that  seem  willing  to  hear  him,  and  from  that 
obligation  exceedingly  praises  the  Duchess  of  Monmouth 
and  my  Lady  Cavendish :  if  he  had  not  the  name  of  being 
mad,  I  believe  in  most  companies  he  would  be  thought 

*  Miss  Brooke  was  his  second  wife ;  his  first  was  a  Miss  Cotton,  of 
Gloncestershire,  by  whom  he  had  issue  one  son  and  two  daughters. 

VOL.    II.  L 


■  ■—pWllr   'W   • 


-  r- — '^    ..p^m.mi    .mv  «       .1 


2^g  THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 

wittier  than  ever  he  was.  He  seems  to  have  few  ex- 
travagances besides  that  of  telliny  stones  of  Umself,M 
he  is  always  inclined  too."  Heavens !  if  a  man  is  to  be  de- 
clared insane,  becanse  he  tells  stories  of  himself,  our 
asylums  wonld  cease  to  have  room  for  their  inmates. 

At  this  date  Denham  was  a  widower,  having  lost  his 
lovely  wife  on  the   7th  of  January,  1667.     The  report 
spread  abroad  that  she  had  been  poisoned,  and  as  he  was 
supposed  to  have   sacrificed  her  to  his  jealousy       the 
populace  of  his  neighbourhood  threatened  to  tear  him  m 
pieces  "  as  soon  as  he  ventured  abroad.    The  suspicion  is 
improbable,  however,  and  her  death  was  more  likely  due 
to  the  ignorance  of  the  physicians  of  the  age.     Sir  John 
recovered  his  faculties  towards  the  close  of  the  year,  wrote 
the  Elegy  on  Cowley,  and  a  few  months  afterwards  closed 
his  chequered  career-dying  at  Whitehall,  in  Marc^- ^^^  " 
A  resting-place  was  provided  for  him   m  Westminster 
Abbey,  near  the  graves  of  the  two  poets  whom  he  had 
warmly  admired,  Chaucer  and  Cowley.  „  ^.   ,     .  „ 

In  1678,  the  year  in  which  Andrew  Marvell  died-ten 
years  after  the  death  of  Denham-the  grave  closed  over 
L  ashes  of  a  thoughtful  poet  and  a  ripe  scholar  Thomas 

Stanlev       He    was    bom  at    Cumberlow,    in    Herts,  in 
Stanley,      u  ^^  ^1^^ 

1625,   and    was    the    son  oi    ou    ^  ^,     ,     x 

author  of  several  poems,  who  was  knighted  by  Charles  L 
THe  younger  Stanley  had  the  advantage  of  being  educated 
by  Fairfax,  the  accomplished  translator  of  Tasso,  and 
attained  a  wide  and  profound  knowledge  of  Latin  and 
Lek,  French  and  Italian.  At  Cambridge  his  reputat  oa 
for  scholarship  stood  very  high,  and  he  carried  off  the 
aegree  of  M.A.  when  only  in  his  ^^^^f^^'^^'^^f^^ 
Afler  a  tour  on  the  Continent  he  returned  to  Enghuid, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


147 


I 


and  in  the  Middle  Temple,  London,  settled  down  to  the 
pursuit  of  his  legal  and  literary  studies,  apparently  undis- 
turbed by  the  din  of  civil  war,  or  by  the  great  political 
changes  which  were  giving  a  new  direction  to  English 
history.  That  they  did  not  greatly  affect  the  social  fabric, 
however,  is  evident  from  the  fact  that,  only  a  few  weeks 
after  the  execution  of  Charles  I.,  Stanley  published  a 
volume  of  poems,  as  one  might  do  in  the  most  ordinary 
times.  In  1655  he  issued  the  first  part  of  his  great 
^'  History  of  Philosophy,  containing  the  Lives,  Opinions, 
Actions,  and  Discoveries  of  the  Philosophers  of  every 
Sect,^'  which  was  completed  in  1660.  "It  is,  in  a  great 
measure,  confined  to  biography,  and  comprehends  no  name 
later  than  Carucales.  Most  is  derived  from  Diogenes 
Laertius ;  but  an  analysis  of  the  Platonic  philosophy  is 
given  from  Alcinous,  and  the  author  has  compiled  one  of 
the  Peripatetic  system  from  Aristotle  himself.  The 
doctrine  of  the  Stoics  is  also  elaborately  deduced  from 
various  sources.  Stanley,  on  the  whole,  brought  a  good 
deal  from  an  almost  untrodden  field ;  but  he  is  merely  an 
historian,  and  never  a  critic  of  philosopy."  ^  Latin  trans- 
lations of  it  were  published  at  Amsterdam,  in  ]  690,  and 
at  Leipzig,  in  1711. 

Stanley  raised  still  higher  the  fame  of  English  scholar- 
ship by  his  celebrated  edition  of  ^schylus,  with  Latin 
translations  and  copious  notes  in  1663.  That  he  owed  a 
great  deal  to  Casa.ubon,  Dorat,  and  Scaliger  may  be 
admitted,  without  making  any  substantial  deduction  from 
the  credit  due  to  him  for  patient  and  persevering  erudition. 
His  ^schylus  must  always  remain  "  a  great  monument  of 
critical  learning." 

*  Hallam,  "  Literature  of  Europe/'  iv,,  63. 


<n»ii»  ■■nimi  ii'«« 


^48  THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 

Stanley  died  in  London,  April  12tli,  1678,  at  tlie  com- 
paratively early  age  of  53. 

As  a  poet  Stanley  had  nothing  in  common  with  his  im- 
mediate contemporaries.     He  belonged  to  what  Johnson 
has    designated    (not    very    happily)    the    Metaphysical 
School,  the  School  of  Crashaw  and  Donne,  though  his 
scholarly  taste  enabled  him  to  avoid  the  extravagant  con- 
ceits  and  far-fetched  ingenuities  on  which  his  predecessors 
so  often  made  shipwreck.     An  innate  refinement  led  him 
also  to  avoid  the  indelicacy  which  disfigures  so  much  of 
the  poetry  of  the  age.      His  translations  are,    perhaps, 
even  better  than  his  original  poems;  they  are  singularly 
graceful,  while  conveying,  with  happy  fidelity,  the    spirit 
of  the  originals.      But  it  is  of  his  own  work  that  we  shall 
give  a  brief  specimen.     One  could  wish  there  had  been 
more  of  it,  for  it  is  always   finished  in   execution,  and 
admirable  in  tone. 

"  Celia,  singing. 

Boses  inbreathing  forth  their  scent, 

Or  stars  their  borrowed  ornament, 

Nymphs  in  the  watery  sphere  that  move, 

Or  angels  in  their  orbs  above, 

The  winged  chariot  of  the  light, 

Or  the  slow  silent  wlieels  of  night. 

The  shade  which  from  the  swifter  sun 

Doth  in  a  circular  motion  run, 
Or  souls  that  their  eternal  rest  do  keep, 
Make  far  less  [more  ?]  noise  than  Celia's  breath  in  sleep. 

But  if  the  Angel  which  inspires 

This  subtle  flame  with  active  fires, 

Should  mould  this  breath  to  words,  and  those 

Into  a  harmony  dispose, 

The  music  of  this  heavenly  sphere 

Would  steal  each  soul  out  at  the  ear, 

And  into  plants  and  stones  infuse 

A  life  that  Cherubim  would  choose. 
And  with  new  powers  invest  the  laws  of  fate, 
Kill  those  that  live,  and  dead  things  animate." 


OE,    ENGLAND    TJNDEE   CHAELES   II. 


149 


I 


We  may  add  that  in  1657  Stanley  published  the 
"Psalterium  Carolinum;  the  Devotions  of  his  Sacred 
Majestie  in  his   Solitude   and   Sufferings,  rendered  into 

verse.'^ 

An  elder  brother  of  Thomas  Killigrew — the  wit  and 
dramatist,  and  unofficial  jester  to  Charles  II. — Sir  William 
Killigrew  (born  in  1605)  dabbled  freely  in  verse,  some 
specimens  of  which  are  embedded  in  the  dulness  of  his 
"  Artless  Midnight  Thoughts  of  a  Gentleman  at  Court, 
who  for  many  years  built  of  sand,  which  every  blast  of 
cross  fortune  has  defaced;  but  now  he  has  laid  new 
foundations  on  the  Eock  of  his  Salvation"  (1693).  Un- 
fortunately the  "  Artless  Thoughts  "  were  built  on  sand. 
They  are  upwards  of  two  hundred  and  thirty  in  number, 
but  not  one  is  worth  preservation.  Killigrew  was  a  brave 
Cavalier  and  a  loyal  servant  of  the  Crown ;  he  held  the 
post  of  Yice-Chamberlain  to  the  Queen  for  two-and- 
twenty  years ;  but  he  was  neither  poet,  philosopher,  nor 
dramatist.  He  wi'ote  five  plays — ''  The  Siege  of  Urbin,^' 
"  Selindra,"  "  Pandora,"^  and  "  Love  and  Friendship'' — 
published  in  1666,  in  which  there  is  none  of  the  wit  that, 
it  is  said,  his  conversation  displayed — and  '^  The  Imperial 
Tragedy,"  published  in  1669.  Sir  William  lived  to  a  ripe 
old  age,  dying  in  the  early  part  of  1693,  when  he  had  just 
attained  his  eighty-ninth  year. 

Sir  William's  niece,  Anne  Killigrew,  daughter  of  his 
youngest  brother.  Dr.  Henry  Killigrew  (author  of  "  The 
Conspiracy,")  maintained  the  reputation  of  the  family  for 

*  This  was  cast,  at  first,  in  the  form  of  a  tragedy ;  bnt  as  the  anthorities 
•of  the  theatre  did  not  want  tragedies,  its  author  obligingly  converted  it  into 
a  comedy.    Sir  Robert  Stapylton  says  of  Sir  William's  plays  that  they  con- 
tained 

....  plots  well  laid. 
The  language  pure  and  every  sentence  weighed ! 


150 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


literary   gifts  and  accomplishments.     Dryden   has   cele- 
brated her  genius  for  painting  and  poetry  in  one  of  the 
finest  of  his  odes ;  and  she  deserves  to  be  remembered 
with  gratitude  if  only  for  having  inspired  this  noble  lyric 
effusion.     Allowing  for  the  genial  extravagances   of  a 
poet's  imagination,  there  must  still  have  been  rare  merit 
in  the  young  artist  of  whom  Dryden  could  say  :— 

"  Art  she  had  none,  yet  wanted  none, 
For  nature  did  that  want  supply. 
So  rich  in  treasure  of  her  own, 
She  might  our  boasted  stores  defy  : 
Such  noble  vigour  did  her  verse  adorn, 
That  it  seemed  borrowed  where  'twas  only  bom." 

Anthony  Wood  affirms  that  "  she  was  a  Grace  for 
beauty,  and  a  Muse  for  wit ;  and  gave  the  earliest  dis- 
coveries of  a  great  genius,  which,  being  improved  by  a 
polite  education,  she  became  eminent  in  the  arts  of  poetry 
and  painting."  These  engaging  and  eminent  accomplish- 
ments, says  Betham,  were  the  least  of  her  perfections,  for 
«  she  crowned  all  with  an  exemplary  piety  and  unblemished 

virtue." 

She  painted  several  historical  compositions,  some  pieces 

of  still  life,  and  portraits  of  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
York.  But  the  promise  of  her  genius  never  ripened  into 
performances ;  she  was  carried  off  by  small-pox,  on  the 
16th  of  June,  1685,  in  her  twenty-fifth  year.  Her 
«  Poems/'  in  a  thin  quarto,  were  published  in  1686. 

Hallam  ranks  Oldham  as  a  satirist ''  next  to  Dryden  ;  " 
he  characterises  him  as  "  spirited  and  pointed,"  but  thinks 
Ms  versification  "  too  negligent  "  and  his  subjects  "  tem- 
porary." It  is  his  good  fortune,  however,  that  he  preceded 
Dryden,  so  that  no  one  can  diminish  his  merits  by  accus- 
ing  him  of  imitation.    For  ourselves,  the  chief  interest  of 


OE,    ENGLAOT)   UNDER  CHARLES   II. 


151 


his  poetry  lies  in  its  indications  of  what  he  might  have 
become  if  his  genius  had  had  time  to  mature.  With 
longer  experience,  riper  thought,  and  calmer  judgment  he 
would  have  been  the  English  Juvenal.  As  it  is,  the 
strength  and  strenuousness  of  his  verse  compel  our  admir- 
ation ;  but  we  can  hardly  forgive  the  occasional  grossness 
of  his  language  and  the  unmeasured  fury  of  his  invective, 
to  say  nothing  of  his  defects  of  execution.  To  these 
defects  Dryden,  who  greatly  valued  his  young  predecessor, 
and  praised  him  with  the  fullest  generosity,  alludes,  when 
he  admits  that,  had  his  brief  career  been  prolonged, 

*'  Years  might  (what  Nature  gives  the  young  ) 
Have  taught  the  numbers  of  thy  native  tongue." 

We  who   know  how  Keats   and   Shelley  wrote  while 
"young,"  can  hardly  accept  this  kindly  excuse  ;  nor  Dry- 
den's  other  plea,  that 

•*  Satire  needs  not  those,  and  wit  will  shine 
Through  the  harsh  cadence  of  a  rugged  line." 

The  full  splendour  of  the  diamond  is  not  brought  out 
until  it  has  been  polished. 

Oldham  was  never  feeble.  Even  in  his  Translations,  or 
rather,  Imitations  from  Horace,  Juvenal,  and  Boileau,  his 
manly  vigour  and  force  and  frankness  are  very  noticeable. 

The  following  quotation  affords  not  only  a  good  specimen 
of  his  style,  but  an  interesting  illustration  of  the  social 
position  of  a  domestic  chaplain  in  the  days  of  Charles 

n.:— 

"  Some  think  themselves  exalted  to  the  sky. 
If  they  light  in  some  noble  family, 
Diet,  a  horse,  and  thirty  pounds  a  year, 
Besides  the  advantage  of  his  lordship's  car, 
The  credit  of  the  business,  and  the  state, 
Are  things  that  in  a  youngster's  sense  sound  great. 
Little  the  inexperienced  wretch  does  know 
What  slavery  he  oft  must  undergo, 


^ 


X52  THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 

Who,  though  in  silken  scarf  and  cassock  drest, 
Wears  but  a  gayer  livery  at  best. 
When  dinner  calls,  the  implement  must  wait, 
With  holy  words  to  consecrate  the  meat, 

But  hold  it  for  a  favour  seldom  known, 
If  he  be  deigned  the  honour  to  sit  down — 

Soon  as  the  tarts  appear,  Sir  Crape,  withdraw  ! 

Those  dainties  are  not  for  a  spiritual  maw. 

Observe  your  distance,  and  be  sure  to  stand 

Hard  by  the  cistern  with  your  cap  in  hand  ; 

There  for  diversion  you  may  pick  your  teeth, 

Till  the  kind  voider*  comes  for  your  relief. 

For  mere  board  wages  such  their  freedom  sell, 

Slaves  to  an  hour,  and  vassals  to  a  bell ; 

And  if  the  enjoyment  of  one  day  be  stole, 

They  are  but  prisoners  out  on  parole  : 

Always  the  marks  of  slavery  remain. 

And  they,  though  loose,  still  drag  about  their  chains. 

And  Where's  the  mighty  prospect  after  all, 

A  chaplainship  served  up,  and  seven  years'  thrall  ? 

The  menial  thing,  perhaps,  for  a  reward 

Is  to  some  slender  benefice  perferred, 

With  this  proviso  bound  :  that  he  must  wed 

My  lady's  antiquated  waitiug-maid 

In  dressing  only  skilled,  and  marmalade."! 

John  Olclliam,  the  author  of  this  forcible  satire,  was 
born  at  Sliipton,  in  Gloucestershire,  on  the  9th  of  August, 
1653.  He  received  from  his  father,  a  non -conforming 
clergyman,  the  elements  of  a  sound  education,  and  was 
afterwards  sent  to  Tilbury  Grammar  School,  ^vhence,  with 
credit,  he  proceeded  to  Edmund  Hall,  Oxford.  His 
natural  ability  was  soon  made  manifest,  and  he  acquired 
a  local  reputation  as  a  writer  of  good  English  verse  and  a 
proficient  in  Latin  scholarship.  In  1674  he  took  his 
degree  of  B.A.,  and  in  the  same  year  was  engaged  as  a 
master  at  Whitgift  Hospital,  Croydon,  where  he  re- 
mained for  three  years,  wrote  his  ''  Satires  against  the 

*  The  basket  containing  the  broken  victuals  left  over  from  dinner. 
tLord  Macaulay   has   largely   availed   himself  of  this    passage    in   hiB 
description  of  the  condition  of  the  clergy  at  the  Restoration. 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAKLES  II. 


153 


Jesuits,"  and  was  discovered  by  Eochester,  Dorset,  and 
Sir  Charles  Sedley,  who  introduced  him  to  the  Earl  of 
Kingston,  and  procured  him  a  tutorship  in  the  family  of 
Sir  Edward  Thurlow,  at  Eeigate.  He  seems  to  have 
quickly  wearied  of  this  engagement ;  nor  did  he  much 
longer  hold  a  similar  appointment  in  the  house  of  Dr. 
Lower,  a  famous  London  physician,  who  advised  him  to 
study  medicine  (1681).  After  a  brief  experience  of  the 
life  of  a  man  of  pleasure,  he  retired  to  the  Earl  of  King- 
ston's mansion,  with  the  view,  it  is  said,  of  preparing  for 
holy  orders,  and  accepting  a  chaplaincy  in  his  patron's 
family — though  one  would  think  that  such  a  position 
would  have  been  eminently  distasteful  to  his  proud  and 
independent  spirit.  He  escaped  the  trial,  however,  by  his 
early  death,  which  took  place  from  small-pox,  at  the 
Earl's  seat.  Holme  Pierpoint,  on  December  8,  1683. 

One  of  the  most  celebrated  names  in  the  poetical  litera- 
ture of  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  is  that  of  Samuel  Butler, 
though  we  suspect  that  his  great  work, ''  Hudibras,"  is,  like 
"  The  Fairy  Queen,"  more  talked  about  than  read.  We  could 
take  large  odds  that    the  number  of   readers  who   have 
actually  gone  through  its  nine  cantos  from  beginning  to 
end  is  infinitesimally  small.     People  pick  up  their  know- 
ledge of  this  poem  from  the  extracts  which  appear  in  all  our 
Anthologies,  and  it  must  be  owned  that  in  this  way  they 
get  at  the  poet's  best,  and  are  led  to  form  a  higher  esti- 
mate of  his  genius  than  would  be  the  case  if  they  had  to 
wade  through  all  his  diffusiveness  and  the  multipUcity  of 
minute  details  which  his  ingenious  fancy  crowds  one  upon 

another. 

"  Hudibras  "  is  a  work  of  wonderful  wit,  singular  learn- 
ing, and  felicitous  versification,  but  not  to  our  thinking  a 


•1 


154 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH  ; 


great  poem.  We  should  even  be  inclined  to  say  tliat  it  is 
not  a  poem  at  all.  It  is  an  elaborate  satire,  thrown  into 
a  clever  metrical  form ;  but  there  is  nothing  of  that 
dramatic  fervour,  or  glow  of  imagination,  or  depth  of 
passion  which  we  look  for  in  true  poetry.  The  imagery  is 
always  grotesque ;  the  sentiment  genernlly  trivial  and  mean. 
There  is  wit  enough,  and  to  spare  ;  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
shrewd  reflection  and  acute  knowledge  of  men  and  things; 
there  are  terse  epigrammatic  couplets  which  the  memory 
readHy  seizes  and  appropriates  ;  there  are  felicitous  rhymes 
which  in  themselves  have  a  rare  element  of  humour— as 
for  instance, 

"  And  pulpit,  drum  ecclesiastic, 
Was  beat  with  fist,  instead  of  a  stick  "  — 

but  this  is  all.  No  doubt  this  is  enough  to  prove  Butler^s 
genius;  only  it  does  not  make  him  a  poet,  in  the  sense  in 
which  Spenser,  and  Keats,  and  Wordsworth  are  poets. 

«Hudibras,"  as  everybody  knows,  is  a  parody  of  "  Don 
Quixote,"  in  which  the  satire,  bitter  always  and  some- 
times savage,  is  directed  against  Puritanism,  or,  rather, 
against   Butler's   conception  of  it.     The  nobler   side  of 
Puritanism,  its  heroic  courage,  its  sublime  faith,  he  either 
could  not  or  would  not  see ;  and,  therefore,  his  satire  to  some 
extent  fails,  because  it  is  directed  against  an  unreality.  So 
far  as  it  was  levelled  at  externals,  at  the  fanatical  legisla- 
tion of  the  Puritans,  and  their  affectations  of  dress  and 
language,  it  was  effective,  but  then  it  was  also  of  only 
temporary  influence.     None  but  those  portions  have  lived 
which  are  applicable  to  folly  and  fanaticism  everywhere 
and  at  all  times.     And  here  it  may  be  observed  that  many 
of  the  attributes  with  which  the  satirist  invests  his  Puri- 
tan Knight  were  by  no  means  peculiar  to  the  Puritans. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


155 


Hypocrisy,  and  pretension,  and  bigotry  belong  to  no  one 
sect  or  faction.  In  Butler's  own  party  were  to  be  found 
men  to  whom  the  following  passage  was  at  least  as  appro- 
priate as  to  any  of  his  opponents  : — 

**  For  rhetoric,  he  could  not  ope 
His  mouth  but  out  there  flew  a  trope  ; 
And  when  he  happened  to  break  off 
r  th'  middle  of  his  speech,  or  cough, 
H'  had  hard  words,  ready  to  show  why, 
And  tell  what  rules  he  did  it  by  : 
Else,  when  with  greatest  art  he  spoke, 
You'd  think  he  talked  like  other  folk  ; 
For  all  a  rhetorician's  rules 
Teach  nothing  butto  name  his  tools." 

This  want  of  veracity  is  conspicuous  throughout  Butler's 
work,  and  renders  it  a  burlesque  as  well  as  a  satire.  It 
is  pitched  throughout  in  too  low  a  key ;  and  the  exagger- 
ation is  so  gross  and  so  obvious  that  we  are  inclined  to 
sympathize  with  the  objects  of  it.  A  man  in  a  pillory  is 
contemptible  only  so  long  as  his  persecutors  refrain  from 
making  a  martyr  of  him. 

Another  defect  is  Butler's  discursiveness.     His  stores  of 
learning  were  so  vast  that  they  supplied  his  ingenious 
fancy  with  material  for  the  prodigal  decoration  of  any 
point  it  touched  upon  ;    and  when  once  his  fancy  was  let 
loose,  it  ran  away  with  him.     He  luxuriated  in  his  own 
profuseness ;    he  could  not  rest  until  he  had  said  every- 
thing that  could  be  said :  and  the  thought  never  occurred 
to  him  that  what  did  not  weary  himself  might  very  pro- 
bably weary  his  readers.     Thus,  he  has  to  describe  the 
breeches  of  his  hero,  and  it  takes  him  more  than  forty 
lines  to  do  it  in.     At  first  the  description  is  exquisitely 
comic,   and  we  are   delighted  with  the  happy  conceits 
which  follow  one  another  so  quickly ;    but  after  a  while 
the  fun  grows  forced  and  tedious,  and  we  begin  to  wonder 


156 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


when  the  writer  will  make  an  end  of  it.*    We  see  that  he 
is  writing  for  his  own  entertainment,  and  not  for  ours  :— 

*'  His  breeches  were  of  ragged  woollen, 
And  had  been  at  the  siege  of  BuUen  ; 
To  old  King  Harry  so  well  known, 
Some  writers  held  they  were  his  own  ; 
Though  they  were  lined  with  many  a  piece 
Of  ammunition,  bread  and  cheese, 
And  fat  black  \mdd\ngs,  jj roper  food 
For  warriors  that  delight  in  blood  ; 
For,  as  we  said,  he  always  choso 
To  carry  victual  in  his  hose, 
That  often  tempted  rats  and  mice 
The  ammunition  to  surprise  ; 
And  when  he  put  a  hand  but  in 
The  one  or  t'other  magazine, 
They  stoutly  on  defence  on't  stood, 
And  from  the  wounded  foe  drew  blood." 

Had  the  poet  ceased  here  all  would  have  been  well,  but 
he  continues  with  merciless  amplitude  to  pile  conceit  upon 
conceit,  until  we  feel  that  Ben  Jonson's  criticism  of 
Shakespeare  would  more  justly  be  applied  to  our  much- 
offending  author,  "that  sometimes  it  was  necessary  he 
should  be  stopped :  Sufflaminandus  erat,  as  Augustus  said 
of  Halerius/'     He  goes  on  at  full  gallop,  thus:— 

«'  And  till  th'  were  stormed  and  beaten  out, 
Ne'er  left  the  fortified  redoubt  ; 
And  though  knights-errant,  as  some  think, 
Of  old,  did  neither  eat  nor  drink, 
Because  when  through  deserts  vast, 
And  regions  desolate  they  passed, 
When  belly-timber  above  ground, 
Or  under,  was  not  to  be  found, 
Unless  they  grazed,  there's  not  one  word 
Of  their  provision  on  record ; 
Which  made  some  confidently  write 
They  had  no  stomachs  but  to  fight. 

*  The  wildest  of  all  criticisms  is  surely  Prior's.    He  praises  Butler  for  what 
Butler  never  understood  :— 

«•  Yet  he,  consummate  master,  knew^ 
When  to  recede  and  when  pursue.' 


»» 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


157 


Tis  false  for  Arthur  wore  in  hall 
Round  table  like  a  farthingal ; 
On  which,  with  shirt  pulled  out  behind, 
And  eke  before,  his  good  knights  dined ; 

Though  'twas  no  table  some  suppose, 

But  a  huge  pair  of  round  trunk-hose, 
In  which  he  carried  as  much  meat 

As  he  and  all  the  knights  could  eat  ; 

When  laying  by  their  swords  and  truncheons, 
They  took  their  breakfasts  on  their  nuncheons." 

There  is  scarcely  any  plot  or  definite  action*  in  ''  Hudi- 
bras,"  and  the  incidents  are  few ;  though  some  are  diverting 
enough,  such  as  the  attack  of  the  knight  and  his  squire 
on  the  bear  and  the  fiddle,  and  their  imprisonment  in  the 
stocks.     The  want  of  continuity  helps   as  much  as  the 
diffusiveness  to  make  it  wearisome.  As  it  stands,  the  story 
extends  in  time  over  three  days.     From  the  initial  line, 
"  When  civil  dudgeon  first  grew  high/'  it  is  clear  that 
Butler  intended  its  action  to  bear  date   with  the  Civil 
Wars;   but,  after  two  days   and  nights   are   completed, 
he  suddenly  passes,  in  the  third  part,  to  Oliver  Cromwell's 
death,  and  then,  in  the  last  canto,  turns  again  to  his  hero. 
The  thin  stream  of  narrative  with  which  he  begun  has  by 
this  time  disappeared.  Even  the  original  intention  of  the 
poem  seems  to  have  been  changed,  and  the  satire  against 
the  Puritans  concludes  with  an  attack  on  Charles  II.  and 
his  mistresses.    For  these  reasons  "  Hudibras "  remains 
a  poem  which  all  admire  and  few  read,  and  the  few  who 
read  do  so  "  by  fits  and  starts,'^  a  continuous  perusal  of  it 
being  almost  impossible. 

Butler  is  one  of  the  most  allusive,  because  he  is  one 
of  the  most  learned  of  writers.  What  Burton's  ''  Anatomy 
of  Melancholy  "  is  in  our  prose  literature,  "  Hudibras  "  is 

♦  Nash,  however,  distinguishes  four  principal  actions,  or  episodes  .—The 
victory  of  Hudibras  over  Cruodero— TruUa's  victory  over  Hudibras— Hudi- 
bras' victory  over  Sidrophel— and  the  Widow's  repulse  of  Hudibras. 


158 


THE   MERET   MONAECH  ; 


OK,    ENGLAKD   TJNDEE   CHAELES   II. 


159 


in   our  poetical.    To  enjoy  it  thoroughly   one  needs  ^  a 
knowledge    almost  as    wide   and  deep   as  its   author's. 
"There  is  always  an  undercurrent  of  satiric  allusion," 
says  a  critic,   "beneath  the   main  stream  of  his  satire. 
The  juggling  of  astrology,  the  besetting  folly  of  alchymy, 
the  transfusion  of  blood,  the  sympathetic  medicines,  the 
learned  trifling  of  experimental  philosophers,  the  knavery 
of  fortune-tellers,  and  the  folly  of  their  dupes,  the  mar- 
vellous relations  of  travellers,  the  subtleties  of  the  school- 
divines,  the  freaks   of  fashion,  the   fantastic    extrava- 
gancies   of   lovers,    the    affectations   of  piety,  and   the 
absurdities  of  romance,  are  interwoven  with  his  subject, 
and   soften  down   and   relieve   his  dark  delineation    of 
fanatical  violence  and  perfidy." 

Of  wise   saws  and  modern  instances  "  Hudibras "    is 
full  to   overflowing.     No  writer  has  ever    shown   more 
readiness   in  compressing   "  the  wisdom   of  the   many " 
into   a  terse  couplet   or  two,  as   easily  remembered   as 
a  proverb  or  a  popular  apophthegm  or  a  nursery  rhyme. 
Many  of    his   "good  things"    have    become  part    and 
parcel  of  our  daily  discourse,  and  we  speak  Butler,  as 
Molifere's   Jourdain    spoke  prose,   without   knowing    it. 
His  works  are  sufficiently  accessible  to  render  unnecessary 
on  our  part   any   attempt  to  exhibit  by  quotation  their 
general  characters ;  but  of  the  felicity  with  which  their 
witty  author  condensed   a  thought  or  an  image   into   a 
sentence,  and  pointed  it  by  a  couple  or  so  of  felicitous 
rhymes,  we   shall  make   bold  to    furnish  some  illustra- 

tions. 

Here  is  a  graceful  simile  :— 

"  True  as  the  dial  to  the  Bun, 
Although  it  be  not  shined  upon." 


We   agree   with   Leigh  Hunt  that    the    following    is 
as  elegant  as  anything  in  Lovelace  or  Waller : — 


u 


I 

f 


.  What  security's  too  strong 
To  guard  that  gentle  heart  from  wrong, 
That  to  its  friend  is  glad  to  pass 
Itself  away,  and  all  it  has, 
And  like  an  anchorite,  gives  over 
This  world,  for  the  heaven  of  a  lover  ?  " 

There  is  an  exceptional  elevation    (for  Butler)  in  the 
following  : — 

"  Like  Indian  widows,  gone  to  bed 
In  flaming  curtains  to  the  dead." 

An    *' exquisite    and    never-to-he-sufficiently    repeated 
couplet " : — 

"  Compound  for  sins  they  are  inclin'd  to, 
By  damning  those  they  have  no  mind  to." 

And  now  for  some  wise  thoughts : — 

"  Doubtless  the  pleasure  is  as  great 
Of  being  cheated  as  to  cheat ; 
As  lookers-on  feel  most  delight 
That  least  perceive  a  juggler's  sleight ; 
And  still  the  less  they  understand, 
The  more  they  admire  his  sleight-of-hand." 

«*  For  what  in  worth  is  anything, 

But  so  much  money  as  'twill  bring." 
**  He  that  is  valiant  and  dares  fight, 

Though  drubbed  can  lose  no  honour  by 't. 

Honour's  a  lease  for  lives  to  come, 

And  cannot  be  extended  from 

The  legal  tenant :  'Tis  a  chattel 

Not  to  be  forfeited  in  battle. 

If  he  that  in  the  field  is  slain 

Be  in  the  bed  of  honour  lain, 

He  that  is  beaten  may  be  said 

To  lie  in  honour's  truckle-bed. 

For  as  we  see  the  eclipsed  sun 

By  mortals  is  more  gazed  upon 

Than  when,  adorned  with  all  his  light. 

He  shines  in  serene  sky  most  bright, 

So  valour  in  a  low  estate 

Is  most  admired  and  wondered  at." 


160 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


u 


The  following  miscellaneous  thougMs  are  partly  from 
Hudibras  "  and  partly  from  Butler's  "  Eemains  "  :- 

«*  In  Rome  no  temple  was  so  low 
As  that  of  Honour,  built  to  show 
How  humble  Honour  ought  to  be, 
Though  there  'twas  all  authority." 

"  Money  that,  like  the  swords  of  Kings, 
Is  the  last  reason  of  all  things." 

«*  Ay  me  1  what  perils  do  environ 
The  man  that  meddles  with  cold  iron  ?  " 

•*  'Tis  not  restraint  or  liberty 

That  makes  men  prisoners  or  free, 
But  perturbations  that  possess 
The  mind,  or  equanimities. 
The  whole  world  was  not  half  so  wide 
To  Alexander  when  he  cried 
Because  he  had  but  one  to  subdue, 
As  was  a  paltry  narrow  tub  to 

Diogenes,  who  is  not  said 

(For  aught  that  ever  I  could  read) 

To  whine,  put  linger  i'  th*  eye,  and  sob 

Because  he  had  ne'er  another  tub." 

«*  Fools  are  known  by  looking  wise, 
As  men  tell  woodcocks  by  their  eyes." 

*'  AH  smiittcrers  are  more  brisk  and  pert 
Than  tho^e  that  understand  an  art ; 
As  little  sparkles  shine  more  bright 
Than  glowing  coals  that  give  them  light." 

'•  Great  conquerors  greater  glory  gain 
By  foes  in  triumi>h  led  than  slain.' 

"As  at  the  approach  of  winter,  all 
The  leaves  of  great  trees  are  to  fall, 
And  leave  then  naked,  to  engage 
With  storms  and  tempest  when  they  rage, 
While  humbler  plants  are  forced  to  wear 
Their  fresh  green  liveries  all  the  year ; 

So  when  their  glorious  season's  gone 

With  great  men,  and  hard  times  come  on, 

The  greatest  calamities  oppress 

The  greatest  still,  and  spare  the  less." 

*'  Valour's  a  mousetrap,  wit  a  gin, 
That  women  oft  are  taken  in.'* 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.         161 

"  Night  is  the  sabbath  of  mankind 
To  rest  the  body  and  the  mind." 

**  Opinion  governs  all  mankind, 
Like  the  blind's  leading  of  the  blind.'* 

«•  Wedlock  without  love,  some  say, 
Is  like  a  lock  without  a  key." 

*'  As  if  artiller}'  and  edge-tools 
Were  th'  only  engines  to  save  souls  I " 

"  Those  that  fly  may  fight  again. 
Which  he  can  never  do  that's  slain."  * 

"  He  that  complies  against  his  will 
Is  of  his  own  opinion  still." 

**  In  the  hurry  of  a  fray 
'Tis  hard  to  keep  out  of  harm's  way." 

*•  In  all  the  trade  of  war  no  feat 
Is  nobler  than  a  brave  retreat. 
For  those  that  run  away  and  fly 
Take  plan  at  least  of  the  enemj'." 

We   select  a  few  of  Butler's  liumorous    and  happy 
rhyme  endings:— 

"  A  true  beard's  like  a  batter'd  ensign  'r         ^    ^ 
That's  bravest  which  there  are  most  tents  in." 

«  Convened  at  midnight  in  outhouses. 
To  appoint  new  rising  rendezvouses." 

"  Doctor  epidemic, 
Stored  with  deletery  med'cins, 
Which  whosoever  took  is  dead  since," 

**  Wholesale  critics,  that  in  coifee- 
Houses  cry  down  all  philosophy." 

**  To  th'  emperor  Caligula, 
That  triumphed  o'er  the  British  sea,t 

«  In  the  "Apophthegms"  of  Erasmus,  translated  by  Udall,  1542,  we 

*«  That  same  man  that  runnith  awaie 
Maie  again  tight  another  daie." 
Butler  was  imitated  by  Goldsmith  in  his  ^"  Art  of  Poetry  on  a  New 

Plan"  — 

"  He  who  fights  and  runs  away 
May  live  to  fight  another  day ; 
But  he  who  is  in  battle  slain 
Can  never  rise  and  fight  again." 
t  Pronounced  sai/. 

VOL.   II.  ^ 


162 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


Took  crabs  and  oysters  prisoners, 
And  lobsters  'stead  of  cuirassiers : 
Engaged  his  legions  in  fierce  bustles 
With  periwinkles,  |)ra\vns,  and  mussels, 
And  led  his  troops,  with  furious  gallops, 
To  charge  whole  regiments  of  scallops." 

*•'  Madame,  I  do  as  is  my  duty, 
Honour  the  shadow  of  your  shoe-tie." 

•'  Anti-christian  assemblies 
To  mischief  bent  as  far's  in  them  lies." 

"  That  proud  dame 
Used  him  so  like  a  base  rascallion, 
That  old  Fyg — what  d'  you  call  him — malion, 
That  cut  his  mistress  out  of  stone, 
Had  not  so  hard  a  hearted  one." 

•'  *  0  Heaven  ! '  quoth  she,  *  can  that  be  true  ? 
I  do  begin  to  fear  'tis  you  ; 
Not  by  your  individual  wdii.skers, 
But  by  your  dialect  and  discourse.'  " 

Samuel  Butler,  tlie  aiitlior  of  "  Iludibras,"  was  born 
at  Strensbam,  in  Worcestersliire,  in  1612.  About  almost 
every  main  incident  in  liis  life  the  authorities  differ,  and 
they  differ  also  in  their  descriptions  of  his  father's  posi- 
tion ;  for  while  Anthony  AVood  says  his  father  was  com- 
paratively wealthy,  others  assert  that  he  was  simply  a 
yeoman  of  poor  estate,  and  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he 
provided  his  son  with  such  education  as  the  Worcester 
Grammar  School  afforded.  As  to  the  future  poet,  it  is 
equally  uncertain  whether  he  went  from  school  to  Oxford 
University  or  to  Canibrid-e,  or  whether  he  went  to  either. 
While  still  in  his  early  manhood  he  obtained  an  appoint- 
ment as  clerk  to  Mr.  Jefferys,  of  Earl's  Coombe,  in  Wor- 
cestershire^  an  eminent  justice  of  the  peace;  and  here  he 
turned  his  leisure  to  advantage  in  the  study  of  books,  and 
the  cultivation  of  music  and  painting.  He  was  next  at 
Wrest,  in  Bedfordshire,  the  seat  of  the  Countess  of  Kent, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


163 


where  he  enjoyed  the  use  of  a  good  library  and  the  con- 
versation of  the  learned  Selden.  Afterwards  we  find  him 
in  the  family  of  Sir  Samuel  Luke,  a  Presbyterian  Colonel 
and  one  of  Cromwell's  officers,  "  scout  master  for  Bedford- 
shire, and  governor  of  Newport  Pagnell/'  We  must 
suppose  the  treatment  he  received  at  the  hands  of  his 
patron  was  harsh  and  ungenerous,  or  we  shall  be  unable 
to  excuse  the  want  of  gratitude  and  good  faith  which 
led  him  to  caricature  Sir  Samuel  in  the  person  of  Sir 
Hudibras.*  And  that  Sir  Samuel  was  the  original  seems 
by  no  means  doubtful  from  the  following  allusion : 

"  'Tis  sung  there  is  a  valiant  Mamaluke 
In  foreign  land  ycleped     .     .     .     ." 

when  the  rhyme  obviously  requires  that  the  blank  should 
be  filled  up  with  the  ColonePs  name.f 

At  the  Eestoration  Butler  was  made  secretary  to  the 
Earl  of  Carberry,  Lord  President  of  Wales,  and  also 
steward  of  Ludlow  Castle.  About  the  same  time  he 
married — Mrs.  Hubert,  a  widow  of  means,  says  one  bio- 
grapher,— a  widow,  says  another,  who  had  lost  her  fortune 
by  injudicious  investments.  Li  lG62,at  the  age  of  fifty,  he 
rose  into  sudden  reputation  by  the  publication  of  the  first 
part  of  his  colossal  satire,  which,  as  we  learn  from  Pepys, 
was  the  admiration  of  the  King  and  his  courtiers.     The 

*  The  name  ^\-as  bom.^ved  from  Spenser :—"  Sir  Hndibras,  a  hardy 
man  (  "  Fairy  Queen,"  ver.  l^  i.,  17.)  Sidrophel,  the  astrologer,  was  meant 
for  Lilly. 

t  The  elder  Disraeli,  in  his  "  Curiosities  of  Literature,"  in  an  elaborate 
paper  fudeavours  to  viii<]icate  Biuier  iroiu  the  accusation  of  injrratitude  in 
having  caricatured  his  natron,  Sir  Samuel  Luke.  His  vindication  seems 
to  us  w..rth  nothing,  if  it  be  agreed  tliat  Luke  was  reallv  the  oricri„al  as 
most  persons  believe,  of  Butler's  hero.  But  it  is  only  justice  to  state  that 
the  editors  of  "The  Grub  Street  Journal"  (January  1730)  assert  that  the 
actual  prototype  was  '*  a  Devonshire  man,  Colonel  KoUe,"  and  that  the 
name  "  liudibras  "  is  derived  from  "  Hugh  de  Bras,"  the  old  tutelar  saint 
ot  Devonshire.  The  assertion  would  be  easier  to  credit  if  those  who  made 
It  had  given  us  some  particulars  both  of  the  Devonshire  Colonel  and  the 
Devonshire  saint ! 


164 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH  ; 


second  part  followed  in  1663  ;  the  third  in  1678.     Butler 
had  to  be  content  with  fame.     If  he  needed,  and  antici- 
pated, a  more  solid  recompense  he  was  disappointed.  The 
story  that  Charles  presented  him  with  a  purse  of  three 
hundred  guineas  rests  on  no  authentic  foundation ;  and 
though  Clarendon,  it  is  said,  gave  him  reason  to  hope  for 
perferment  he  never  received  it.     Anthony  Wood  asserts, 
but  the  other  authorities  deny,  that  the  Duke  of  Bucking- 
ham, when  Chancellor  of  Cambridge,  appointed  him  as  his 
secretary,  and  on  all  occasions  treated  him  with  liberality 
and  kindness.    But  if  this  be  untrue,  there  seems  reason 
to  believe  that  the  following  anecdote  is  not  less  untrue  : 
"  Mr.  Wycherley  had  always  laid  hold  of  any  opportunity 
which  offered  of  representing  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham 
how  well  Mr.  Butler  had  deserved  of  the  royal  family  by 
writing  his  inimitable  Hudibras,  and  that  it  was  a  re- 
proach to  the  Court  that  a  person  of  his  loyalty  and  wit 
should  suffer  in  obscurity,  and  under  the  wants  he  did. 
The  Duke  always  seemed  to  hearken  to  him  with  atten- 
tion  enough,  and  after  some  time  undertook  to  recom- 
mend  his  pretensions  to  his  Majesty.     Mr.  Wycherley,  in 
hopes  to  keep  him  steady  to  his  word,   obtained  of  his 
Grace  to  name  a  day,  when  he  might  introduce  that 
modest  and  unfortunate  poet  to  his  new  patron.     At  last 
an  appointment  was  made,  and  the  place  of  meeting  was 
agreed  to  be  the  Roebuck.    Mr.  Butler  and  his  friend 
attended  accordingly ;  the  Duke  joined  them,  but  as  the 
devil  would  have  it,  the  door  of  the  room  where  they  sat 
was  open,  and  his  Grace,  who  had  seated  himself  near  it, 
observing  a  pimp  of  his  acquaintance   (the  creature  too 
was  a  knight)  trip  by  with  a  brace  of  ladies,  immediately 
quitted  his  engagement  to  follow  another  kind  of  business. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


165 


at  which  he  was  more  ready  than  to  do  good  office  to  those 
of  desert,  though  no  one  was  better  qualified  than  he, 
both  in  regard  to  his  fortune  and  understanding,  to 
protect  them ;  and  from  that  time  to  the  day  of  his  death, 
poor  Butler  never  found  the  least  effect  of  his  promise." 

This  is  a  good  story ;  but,  with  Johnson,  we  disbelieve 
its  authencity. 

That  Butler  did  not  meet  with  the  generous  support 
and  recognition  to  which  his  genius,  and  his  services  to 
the  cause  of  the  Eoyalists,  entitled  him,  is  evident  enough 
from  the  complaints  of  Oldham  and  Dry  den,  which  could 
never  have  been  so  publicly  and  generally  made  if  there 
had  been  no  warranty  for  them.  Oldham  writes  with 
honest  indignation  :— 

*'  On  Butler,  who  can  think  without  just  rage, 
The  glorj  and  the  scandal  of  the  age  ? 
Fair  stood  his  hopes,  when  first  he  came  to  town, 
Met  everywhere  with  welcomes  of  renown. 
Courted  and  loved  by  all,  with  wonder  read, 
And  promises  of  princely  favour  fed. 
B  ut  what  reward  for  all  had  he  at  last, 
After  a  life  in  dull  expectance  past  ? 
The  wretch,  at  summing  up  his  misspent  days, 
Found  nothing  left  but  poverty  and  praise. 
Of  all  his  gains  by  verse  he  could  not  save 
Enough  to  purchase  flannel  and  a  grave. 
Reduced  to  want,  he  in  due  time  fell  sick, 
Was  fain  to  die,  and  be  interred  on  tick, 
And  well  might  bless  the  fever  that  was  sent 
To  rid  him  hence,  and  his  worse  fate  prevent.'* 

(Satire  against  Poetry). 

And  Dryden : 

"  Unpitied  Hudibras,  your  champion  friend, 

Has  shown  bow  far  your  charities  extend. 

This  lasting  verse  shall  on  his  tomb  be  read, 

*  He  shamed  you  living,  and  upbraids  you  dead ! ' " 

But  Butler  himself  had  already  protested,  in  his  "  Hudi- 


166 


THE    MEEEY   MONAECH  ; 


bras  at  Court ''  (in  tlie  ''  Eemains  ")  against  the  royal  in- 
gratitude : — 

*'  Now  after  all,  was  it  not  hard 
That  he  should  meet  with  no  reward, 
That  fitted  out  this  knight  and  squire, 
This  monarch  did  so  much  admire." 

It  may  be  that  the  obscurity  in  which  the  poet  was 
sufiPered  to  remain  originated  in  the  faults  of  his  char- 
acter. Aubrey  speaks  of  him  as  choleric,  and  of  a  severe 
and  sound  judgment ;  adding,  with  keen  knowledge  of 
human  nature,  "  satirical  wits  disoblige  whom  they  con- 
verse with,  and  consequently  make  themselves  many 
enemies  and  few  friends."     Such,  he  says,  was  Butler's 

case. 

In  this  ''  mist  of  obscurity  ''—the  phrase  is  Johnson's— 
died  Samuel  Butler,  on  the  25th  of  September,  1680;  and 
at  the  expense  of  his  friends  was  buried  in  St.  Paul's 
Churchyard,  Covent  Garden,  the  honour  of  a  public 
funeral  in  Westminster  Abbey  having  been  refused. 
About  forty  years  afterwards,  Alderman  Barber  erected 
in  the  Abbey  a  monument  to  his  memory,  on  which  is 
engraved  an  elaborate  laudatory  inscription  in  Latin, 
which  in  pithiness  and  force  is  much  surpassed  by  the 
epitaph  ascribed  to  John  Dennis  :— 

"  Near  this  place  lies  interred 
The  body  of  Mr.  Samuel  Butler, 
Author  of  Hudibras. 
He  was  a  whole  species  of  poet  in  one, 

Admirable  in  a  manner 

In  which  no  one  else  has  been  tolerable  : 

A  manner  which  began  and  ended  with  him, 

In  which  he  knew  no  guide, 

And  has  found  no  followers." 

The  tardiness  of  this  tribute  to  the  poet  elicited  some 
epigrammatic  lines  from  Samuel  Wesley  : — 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDEE  CHAELES  II.         167 

"  While  Butler,  needy  wretch,  was  yet  alive, 
No  generous  patron  would  a  dinner  give ; 
See  him,  when  starved  to  death  and  turned  to  dust, 
Presented  with  a  monumental  bust. 
The  poet's  fate  is  here  in  emblem  shown, 
He  asked  for  bread,  and  he  received  a  stone." 

Besides  his  immortal  "Hudibras,"  Butler  was  the 
author  of  a  couple  of  pamphlets,  a  satirical  Ode  on  the 
exploits  of  the  famous  highwayman,  "Claude  Duval," 
and  various  poems  and  prose  writings  included  in  his 
"  Eemains,"  of  which  we  may  notice  as  the  most  im- 
portant, "  The  Elephant  in  the  Moon ;  "  "A  Satire  upon 
the  Eoyal  Society ; "  "A  Satire  upon  the  Imperfection 
and  Abuse  of  Human  Learning;"  and  "A  Panegyric 
upon  Sir  John  Denham's  Eecovery  from  his  Madness.'* 
His  "  Description  of  Holland,"  with  its  richly  humorous 
exaggeration,  is  well  known. 


i-j 


A  COUPLE  OF  COUETIEES. 


The  Eakl  op  Eochester.      The  Duke  of  Buckingham. 


n 


■ 


CHAPTER  IV. 


a  couple  of  courtiees. 
The  Earl  of  Rochester.      The  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

John  Wihnot,  Earl  of  Rochester. 

The  most  brilliant  figure  of  a  brilliant  Conrt — a  man  of 
unquestionable  ability,  but  of  the  most  shameless  profli- 
gacy— wit,  poet,  dramatist,  politician — gifted  with  rare 
personal  graces  and  a  wonderful  charm  of  manner,  yet 
perverting  his  fine  endowments  to  the  worst  purposes — 
John  Wilmot,  Earl  of  Eoch ester,  has,  in  the  most  literal 
sense  of  Johnson^s  hackneyed  lines,  left  a  name  to  point  a 
moral,  if  not  exactly  to  adorn  a  tale.  It  would  seem  as  if 
at  his  birth  those  powers  in  whose  hands  rest  the  distri- 
bution of  the  good  things  of  nature  had  lavished  upon  him 
all  except  that  one  which  is  indispensable  to  their  right 
use,  the  heavenly  gift  of  virtue.  With  all  his  talents,  with 
all  his  opportunities  of  rank  and  fortune,  his  was  a  wrecked 
life — a  life  misspent,  and,  therefore,  unen joyed — and  the 
only  part  of  it  to  be  contemplated  with  satisfaction  are 
the  hours  of  contrition  and  reflection  which  he  spent  with 
the  shadow  of  death  upon  him. 


172 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


John  Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester,  was  born  at  Ditchley, 
in  Oxfordshire,  on  the  10th  of  April,  1647.     His  father 
was  Henry,  Lord  Wilmot,  a  brave  and  loyal  Cavalier,  who 
attended   Charles   II.   during   his   wanderings   after  the 
battle  of  Worcester,  and    was  rewarded  for  his  faithful 
service  with  the  Earldom  of  Rochester.      His  son  and 
only  surviving  child  received  his  early  education  at  the 
Grammar  School  of  Burford,  whence  he  was  removed  to 
Wadham  College,  Oxford,  in  1G59.   His  intellectual  powers 
were  quickly  conspicuous ;  he  attained  with  facility  a  wide 
knowledge  of  the  classics  ;  wrote  verses  with  fluency ;  and 
spoke  epigrams  with  careless  profusion.      In  1661,  at  the 
age  of  fourteen,  he  was  admitted  to  the  degree  of  M.A., 
and  the  Chancellor  of  the  University,    Lord  Clarendon, 
distinguished  him  from  other  candidates  by  kissing  him 
in  the   Continental  fashion.      He   made    the   customary 
"grand  tour"   of   France  and   Italy,  and,  returning  to 
England  in  1665,  became  at  once  a   splendid  figure  at 
Charles's  splendid  Court.    His  wit,  his  handsome  person, 
his  graceful  address,  made  him  the   observed  of  all  ob- 
servers.    Charles  admitted  him  to  his  intimacy,  conferring 
on  him  the  appointment  of  a  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber 
and  Controller  of  Woodstock  Park  ;  and  soon  in  that  disso- 
lute scene  the  young  Earl  was  gayest  among  the  gay. 

There  were  times  in  the  wayward  career  of  this  remark- 
able man  when  he  seems  to  have  struggled  against  him- 
self—to have  been  conscious  of  his  powers,  and  made 
desultory  efforts  to  direct  them  to  a  worthy  purpose. 
Thus,  in  the  winter  of  1665,  he  joined,  as  a  volunteer, 
the  Earl  of  Sandwich's  expedition  against  the  Dutch, 
whose  East  India  fleet  took  refuge  in  Bergen  harbour,  and 
were  there  attacked  by  Sandwich  with  desperate  resolu- 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


173 


tion.  Rochester  served  on  board  The  Revenge,  was  in  the 
thick  of  the  action,  and  under  a  tremendous  fire  preserved 
his  usual  air  of  careless  gallantry.  In  the  following  year 
he  was  present  at  the  great  battle  of  the  3rd  of  June,  and 
was  sent  by  Sir  Edward  Sprague  with  a  message  to  one 
of  his  captains  in  the  heat  of  the  engagement,  going  and 
returning  in  an  open  boat,  under  a  storm  of  shot,  as  coolly 
as  if  he  had  been  sauntering  in  the  Mall.  The  stern  expe- 
rience of  war  exercised  for  a  time  a  salutary  influence  on 
his  conduct.  He  avoided  the  gay  gallants  with  whom  he 
had  plunged  into  dissipation,  and  lived  with  a  temperance 
and  a  discretion  which  led  his  friends  to  hope  he  might  yet 
justify  their  high  opinions. 

He  was  already  married.  In  his  early  manhood  he  chose 
for  his  wife  one  Elizabeth  Mallet,  the  daughter  of  John 
Mallet,  Esquire,  of  Enmore,  in  Somersetshire,  a  young 
lady  of  considerable  personal  charms,  with  a  fortune  valued 
at  £2,500  a  year.*^  The  match  was  favoured  by  Charles 
II.,  who  deigned  to  recommend  his  favourite  to  the  lady's 
attention ;  nor  does  there  seem  to  have  been  any  insuper- 
able obstacle  to  its  successful  conclusion.  Yet,  with  the 
perverseness  which  distinguished  him,  Eochester  resolved 
to  carry  her  off  by  force.  As  the  lady  was  returning  home 
one  evening,  after  supping  with  Mrs.  Frances  Stewart,  her 
coach  was  surrounded  by  a  number  of  armed  men,  afoot 
and  on  horseback,  who  violently  hurried  her  into  another, 
drawn  by  six  horses,  and  drove  off  rapidly  towards  Uxbridge, 
where  Eochester  was  awaiting  his  intended  bride.  But  the 
alarm  having  been  given,  and  a  hot  pursuit  undertaken, 
the  abducted  heiress  was  restored,  and  Eochester,  by  the 

*  This  is  the  "  melancholy  heiress  "  (la  triste  heritiere)  of  Count  Hamil- 
ton; so  called,  I  suppose,  as  the  wife  of  Eochester. 


1 


174 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


King's  order,  committed  to  the  Tower.  Eventually,  how- 
ever, he  was  pardoned  both  by  his  King  and  by  Miss 
Mallet,  and  their  marriage  soon  afterwards  took  place  * 
Nor  does  it  seem,  on  the  whole— in  spite  of  his  infidelities 
and  numerous  absences— to  have  been  an  uuhappy  one 
Eochester's  letters  afford  convincing  proof,  as  we  shall 
see,  that  he  could  be  an  affectionate  husband  and  a  tender 
father ;  his  better  nature  revealing  itself  in  the  pure  atmo- 
sphere of  Home. 

After  the  temporary  reformation  to  which  I  have  alluded 
Eochester  broke  out  into  the  wildest  escapades.     His  fan- 
tastic freaks  were  the  amusement,  as  his  epigrams  were 
the    terror,   of    the   Court.       He    mimicked    the    Lord 
Chancellor  in  the  King's  presence;  he  played  audacious 
tricks  on  the  ladies  who  fluttered,  butterfly-like,  in  the 
sunshine  of  royal  smiles  ;  he  quarrelled  with  the  courtiers, 
and,  as  in  his  quarrel  with  Lord  Mulgrave  (afterwards 
Duke  of  BuckiMglianishire),bore  himself  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  show  that  his  once  brilliant  courage  had  been  im- 
paired by  the  excesses  which  were  ruining  his  constitu- 
tion.    "  He  gave  himself  up,"  says  Bishop  Burnet,  "  to 
all  sorts  of  extravagance,  and  to  the  wildest  frolics  that 

»  Pepvs  gives  the  follow  iii^^  uecouiit  of  tliis  boyish  escapade  (Rochester 

was  thru  ill  his  18th  ycur): -"  Mnv  2s\    KWi:..    To  my   Liuly  Saiidwichs, 

where,  to  my  shame,  I  had  not  I  at  while.     There,  upon  iny  telling 

her  u  ~i**rv  ol"  mv  Lord  ot  U.K-hestt  rs  niniuiig  away  on  Friday  niglit  last  with 
Mi<  Mailctt,  tlio  i,neat  beauty  au.l  fortune  oi  the  Xortli,  who  had  supped 
at  \VhiU-hall  with  Mrs.  fett;wart,  and  wa.-  -•..iiig  home  to  lier  lodgings  with 
her  graudtuther,  my  L..rd  Hally,  by  eoueh  ;  and  was  at  Charing  Cross 
seized  on  by  both  horse  and  footmen,  and  forcibly  taken  Irom  him,  and 
put  into  a  coaeli  with  >i\  h  and  two  u.. men   provided  to  receive  her, 

and  carried  away.  Upon  immediate  jmrsuit,  my  1  '  -f  llochester  (for 
whom  the  King  had  si.oke  to  the  lady  often,  but  witli  nw  ^access)  was  taken 
at  Uxbridge  ;  but  the  lady  is  not  yet  heard  of,  and  the  King  mighty  angry, 
and  the  Lord  sent  to  the  Tower.  Hereupon  my  lady  did  confess  to  me,  as  a 
ereat  secret,  her  being  concerned  in  this  story.  For  it  tins  match  breaks 
between  my  Lord  Kochester  ■mA  lier,  then,  by  the  consent  of  all  her  friends, 
mv  Lord  liinchiugbroke  (Lord  Sandwich's  son  and  heir)  stands  fair,  and  ia 
invited  tor  her." 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


175 


wanton  wit  could  devise.  He  would  have  gone  about  the 
streets  as  a  beggar,  and  made  love  as  a  porter.  He  set  up 
a  stage  as  an  Italian  mountebank.  He  was  for  some  years 
always  drunk ;  and  was  ever  doing  some  mischief.  The 
King  loved  his  company,  for  the  diversion  it  afforded, 
better  than  his  person ;  and  there  was  no  love  lost  between 
them.  He  took  his  revenges  in  many  Jibels.  He  found 
out  a  footman  that  knew  all  the  Court ;  and  he  furnished 
him  with  a  red  coat  and  a  musket,  as  a  sentinel,  and  kept 
him  all  the  winter  long,  every  night,  at  the  doors  of  such 
ladies  as  he  believed  might  be  in  intrigues.  In  the  Court, 
a  sentinel  is  little  minded,  and  is  believed  to  be  posted  by 
a  captain  of  the  guards  to  hinder  a  combat ;  so  this  man 
saw  who  walked  about  and  visited  at  forbidden  hours. 
By  this  means  Lord  Eochester  made  many  discoveries; 
and  when  he  was  well  furnished  with  materials,  he  used 
to  retire  into  the  country  for  a  month  or  two  to  write 
libels.  Once,  being  drunk,  he  intended  to  give  the  King 
a  libel  he  had  writ  on  some  ladies,  but,  by  mistake,  he 
gave  him  one  written  on  himself.  He  fell  into  an  ill 
habit  of  body,  and,  in  set  fits  of  sickness,  he  had  deep 
remorses,  for  he  was  guilty  both  of  much  impiety  and  of 
great  immoralities.  But  as  he  recovered,  he  threw  these 
off,  and  turned  again  to  his  former  ill  courses." 

"  He  set  up  a  stage  as  an  Italian  mountebank."  This 
was  one  of  Eochester's  most  extraordinary  exploits.  He 
had  been  banished  from  Court  for  one  of  his  bitter  lam- 
poons, but  growing  weary  of  rural  retirement,  and  feeling 
sure  that  the  King  would  soon  recall  him,  he  ventured  up 
to  London.  Here  he  took  lodgings  among  the  rich  mer- 
chants and  leading  tradesmen  ;  changed  his  dress  and 
assumed   a   fictitious   name;    and,   having   a   wonderful 


176 


THE    MEEEY   MONARCH; 


facUity  in  adapting  Mmself  to  all  classes  and  persons, 
lie  soon  wormed  his  way  into  the  good  graces  of  some 
of  the  wealthy  aldermen  and  the  favour  of  their  stately 
ladies.     He  was  invited  to  all  their  feasts  and  assemblies, 
and  while,  in  the  company  of  the  husbands,  he  declaimed 
against  the  faults  and  mistakes  oP  Government,  he  joined 
their  wives  in  railing  against  the  profligacy  of  the  Court 
ladies,  and  in  inveighing  against  the  King's  mistresses. 
He  agreed  with  them  that  the  cost  of  all  these  extrava- 
gances fell  upon  the   industrious   poor  ;   that  the   city 
beauties  were  not  inferior  to  those  of  the  other  end  of 
the  town,  although,  in  the  city,  a  sober  husband  was  con- 
tented  with  one  wife ;  and,  finally,  he  protested  that  he 
wondered  Whitehall  was  not  yet  consumed  by  fire  from 
heaven,   since   such   rakes   as  Eochester,  Killigrew,  and 
Sidney   were   suffered  there.     In  this  way   he  endeared 
himself  to  the  cits,  and  made  himself  welcome  at  their 
clubs,  until  the  restless  gallant  grew  weary  of  the  endless 

round  of  banquets. 

But,  instead  of  approaching  the  Court,  he  retired  into 
one  of  the  obscurest  corners  of  the  City,  where,  changing 
again  his  name  and  dress,  he  caused  bills  to  be  distributed, 
announcing^"  The  recent  arrival  of  a  famous  German 
doctor,  who,  by  long  study  and  extensive  practice,  had 
discovered  wonderful  secrets  and  infallible  remedies."  Of 
this  curious  document  we  give  such  passages  as  are  con- 
sistent with  a  regard  for  decency  :— 

«  To  all  gentlemen,  ladies,  and  others,  whether  of  city, 
town,  or  country,  Alexander  Bendo  wisheth  all  health  and 

prosperity.  ,      ,  ,     ^ 

"  Whereas  this  famed  metropolis  of  England  (and  were 
the  endeavours  of  its  worthy  inhabitants  equal  to  their 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


177 


power,  merit,  and  virtue,  I  should  not  stick  to  denounce  it 
in  a   short  time,    the    metropolis    of  the   whole  world)  • 
whereas,  I  say,  this  city  (as  most  great  ones  are)  has  ever 
been  infested  with  a  numerous  company  of  such,  whose  arro- 
gant confidence,  backed  with  their  ignorance,  has  enabled 
them  to  impose  on  the  people,  either  by  premeditated 
cheats,  or  at  best,  the  palpable,  dull,  and  empty  mistakes 
of  their  self-deluded  imagination  in  physic,  chymical  and 
Galenic;    in   astrology,  physiognomy,  palmistry,   mathe- 
matics, alchymy,  and  even,  in  government  itself,  the  last 
of  which  I  will  not  propose  to  discourse  of,  or  meddle  at 
all  in,  since  it  in  no  way  belongs  to  my  trade  or  vocation, 
as  the  rest  do;  which  (thanks  to  my  God)  I  find  much 
more  safe,  I  think  equally  honest,  and  therefore  more 
profitable. 

.  "  But  as  to  all  the  former,  they  have  been  so  erroneously 
practised  by  many  unlearned  wretches,  whom  poverty  and 
neediness,  for  the  most  part  (if  not  the  restless  itch  of 
deceiving),  has  forced  to  struggle  and  wander  in  unknown 
parts,  that  even  the  professions  themselves,  though  origi- 
nally the  products  of  the  most  learned  and  wise  men's 
laborious   studies   and  experience,   and  by  them  left  a 
wealthy  and  glorious  inheritance  for  ages  to  come,  seem, 
by  this  bastard  race  of  quacks  and  cheats,  to  have  been 
run   out  of  all  wisdom,  learning,   perspicuousness,  and 
truth,  with  which  they  were  so  plentifully  stocked ;  and 
now  run  into  a  repute  of  mere  mists,  imaginations,  errors, 
and  deceits,  such  as,  in  the  management  of  these  idle  pro- 
fessors, indeed  they  were. 

"You  will   therefore,   I  hope,  gentlemen,  ladies,  and 
others,  deem  it  but  just  that  I,  who  for  some  years  have 

VOL.   II,  ^ 


178 


THE  MEEKT  MONARCH; 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


179 


with  aU  faithfulness  and  assiduity  courted  these  arts,  and 
received  such  signal  favours  from  them,  that  they  have 
admitted  me  to  the  happy  and  full  enjoyment  of  them- 
selves, and  trusted  me  with  their  greatest  secrets,  should 
with  an  earnestness  and  concern  more  than  ordinary,  take 
their  parts  against  those  impudent  fops,  whose  saucy, 
impertinent  addresses  and  pretensions  have  brought  such 
a  scandal  upon  their  most  immaculate  honours  and  repu- 
tations. 

«  Besides,  I  hope  you  will  not  think  I  could  be  so  impu- 
dent, that  if  I  had  intended  any  such  foul  play  myself,  I 
would  have  given  you  so  fair  warning  by  my  severe  obser- 
vations upon  others.    '  Qui  alterum  incusant  probri,  ipsum 
se  intueri  oportet.'     However,  gentlemen,  in  a  world  like 
this,  where  virtue  is  so  exactly  counterfeited  and  hypo- 
crisy  80  generally  taken  notice  of,  that  every  one,  armed 
with  suspicion,  stands  upon  his  guard  against  it,  it  will  be 
very  hard,  for  a  stranger  especially,  to  escape  censure. 
All  I  shall  say  for  myself   on  this  score  is  this: -if  I 
appear  to  any  one  like  a  counterfeit,  even  for  the  sake  of 
that,  chiefly,  ought  I  to  be  construed  a  true  man.     Who 
is  the  counterfeit's  example?     His  original;   and  that, 
which  he  employs  his  industry  and  pains  to  imitate  and 
copy ;  is  it  therefore  my  fault,  if  the  cheat  by  his  wits  and 
endeavours  makes  himself  so  like  me,  that  consequently  I 
cannot  avoid  resembling  him  ?     Consider,'pray,  the  valiant 
and  the  coward,  the  wealthy  merchant  and  the  bankrupt, 
the  poUtician  and  the  fool ;  they  are  the  same  in  many 
things,  and  differ  but  in  one  alone. 

"The  valiant  man  holds  up  his  head,  looks  confidently 
round  about  him,  wears  a  sword,  courts  a  lord's  wife,  and 
owns  it ;  so  does  the  coward :   one  only  point  of  honour 


I  'i 


excepted,  and  that  is  courage,  whicli  (like  false  metal,  one 
only  trial  can  discover)  makes  the  distinction. 

''The  bankrupt  walks  the  exchange,  buys  bargains, 
draws  bills,  and  accepts  them  with  the  richest,  whilst 
paper  and  credit  are  current  coin :  that  which  makes  the 
difference  is  real  cash  ;  a  great  defect  indeed,  and  yet  but 
one,  and  that  the  last  found  out,  and  still,  till  then,  the 
least  perceived. 

''Now  for  the  politician  :— he  is  a  grave,  deliberating, 
close,  prying  man :  pray,  are  there  not  grave,  deliberating, 
close,  prying  fools  ? 

"  If  then  the  difference  betwixt  all  these  (though  infinite 
in  effect)  be  so  nice  in  all  appearance^  will  you  expect  it 
should  be  otherwise  betwixt  the  false  physician,  astrologer, 
etc.,  and  the  true?  The  first  calls  himself  learned  doctor, 
sends  forth  his  bills,  gives  physic  and  counsel,  tells  and 
foretels ;  the  other  is  bound  to  do  just  as  much  :  it  is  only 
your  experience  must  distinguish  betwixt  them;  to  which 
I  willingly  submit  myself.  I  will  only  say  something  to 
the  honour  of  the  mountebank,  in  case  you  discover  me  to 
be  one. 

"  Eeflect  a  little  what  kind  of  creature  it  is  :— he  is  one 
then,  who  is  fain  to  supply  some  higher  ability  he  pretends 
to  with  craft  ;  he  draws  great  companies  to  him  by  under- 
taking strange  things,  which  can  never  be  effected.  The 
politician  (by  his  example  no  doubt)  finding  how  the  people 
are  taken  with  spurious  miraculous  impossibilities,  plays 
the  sam-  game ;  protests,  declares,  promises  I  know  not 
what  things,  which  he  is  sure  can  never  be  brought  about. 
The  people  believe,  are  deluded,  and  pleased  ;  the  expec- 
tation of  a  future  good,  which  shall  never  befal  them, 
draws  their  eyes  off  a  present  evil.     Thus  are  they  kept 


180 


THE  MEEET  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  rNDEE  OHAELES  II. 


181 


and  established  in  subjection,  peace,  and  obedience ;  he  in 
greatness,  wealth,  and  power.     So  yon  see  the  politician 
is,  and  mnst  be  a  rrwuntehank  in  State  affairs ;  and  the 
mountebank  no  donbt,  if  he  thrives,  is  an  arrant  politiciaa 
in  physic.    But  that  I  may  not  prove  too  tedious,  I  will 
proceed  faithfully  to  inform  you,  what  are  the  things  la 
which  I  pretend  chieEy,  at  this  time,  to  serve  my  country. 
«  First,  I  wiU  (by  the  leave  of  God)  perfectly  cure  that 
lobes  Britannica,  or  grand  English  disease,  the  scurvy  :  and 
that  with  such  ease  to  my  patient,  that  he  shall  not  be 
sensible  of  the  least  inconvenience,  whilst  I  steal  his  dis- 
temper from  him.     I  know  there  are  many  who  treat  this 
disease  with  mercury,  antimony,  spirits,  and  salts,  being 
dangerous  remedies  ;  in  which  I  shall  meddle  very  httle, 
and  with  great  caution ;  but  by  more  secure,  gentle,  and 
less  fallible  medicines,  together  with  the  observation    of 
some  few  rules  in  diet,  perfectly  cure  the  patient,  having 
freed  him  from  all  the  symptoms,  as  looseness  of  the  teeth, 
scorbutic  spots,  want  of  appetite,  pains  and  lassitude  in 
the  limbs  and  joints,  especially  the  legs.    And  to  say  true 
there  are  few  distempers  in  this  nation  that  are  not,  or  at 
least  proceed  out  originally  from  the  scurvy  ;  which,  were 
it  well  rooted  out  (as  I  make  no  question  to  do  it  from  all 
those  who  shall  come  into  my  hands),  there  would  not  be 
heard  of  so  many  gouts,  aches,  dropsies,  and  consump- 
tions;  nay,  even  those  thick  and  slimy  humours,  which 
generate  stones  in  the  kidneys  and  bladder,  are  for  the 
most  part  offsprings  of  the  scurvy.     It  would  prove  tedious 
to  set  down  all  its  malignant  race ;  but  those  who  address 
themselves  here,  shall  be  still  informed  by  me  of  the  nature 
of  their  distempers,   and  the  grounds  I  proceed  upon  to 
their  cure :  so  will  all  reasonable  people  be  satisfied  that  I 


treat  tliem  with  care,  honesty,  and  understanding  ;  for  I 
am  not  of  their  023inion,   who  endeavour  to  render  their 
vocations  rather  mysterious  than  useful  and  satisfactory. 
''  I  will  not  here  make  a  catalogue  of  diseases  and  dis- 
tempers ;  it  behoves  a  physician,  I  am  sure,  to  understand 
them  all ;  but  if  any  one  come  to  me  (as  I  think  there  are 
very  few  that  have  escaped  my  practice)  I  shall  not  be 
ashamed  to  own  to  my  patient,  when  I  find  myself  to  seek ; 
and,  at   least,  he  shall  be  secure  with   me  from  having 
experiments  tried   upon  him;  a  privilege   he  can  never 
hope  to  enjoy,  either  in  the  hands  of  the  grand  doctors  of 
the  court  and  Tower,  or  in  those  of  the  lesser  quacks  and 
mountebanks. 

"  It  is  thought  fit,  that  T  assure  you  of  great  secrecy,  as 
well  as  cure,  in  diseases,  where  it  is  requisite ;  whether 
venereal  or  others  ;  as  some  peculiar  to  women,  the  green- 
sickness, weaknesses,  inflammations,  or  obstructions  in 
the  stomach,  reins,  liver,  spleen,  &c. ;  for  I  would  put  no 
word  in  my  bill  that  bears  any  unclean  sound;  it  is  enough 
that  I  make  myself  understood.  I  have  seen  physician's 
bills  as  bawdy  as  Aretine's  Dialogues,  which  no  man,  that 
walks  warily  before  God,  can  approve  of.  .  .  . 

*'  I  have,  likewise,  got  the  knowledge  of  a  great  secret 
to  cure  barrenness.  .  .  Cures  of  this  kind  I  have  done 
signal  and  many.  .  .  . 

"As  to  astrological  predictions,  physiognomy,  divina- 
tion by  dreams,  and  otherwise  (palmistry  I  have  no  faith 
in,  because  there  can  be  no  reason  alleged  for  it),  my 
own  experience  has  convinced  me  more  of  their  consider- 
able effects  and  marvellous  operations,  chiefly  in  the 
direction  of  future  proceedings,  to  the  avoiding  of  dangers 
that  threaten,  and   laying  hold  of  advantages  that  might 


182 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


offer  themselves ;    I  say,  my  own  practice  has  convinced 

me,  more  than  all  the  sage  and  wise  writings  extant,  of 

those  matters ;  for  I  might  say  this  of  myself  (did  it  not 

look  like  ostentation),  that  I  have  very  seldom  failed  in 

my  predictions,  and  often  heen  very   serviceable   in  my 

advice.      How  far  I  am  capable  in  this  way,  I  am  sure  is 

not  fit  to  be    delivered    in   print:    those  who  have   no 

opinion  of  the  trath  of  this  art,  will  not,  I  suppose,  come 

to  me  about   it ;    such  as  have,  I  make  no  question  of 

giving  them  ample  satisfaction. 

"  Nor  will  I  be  ashamed  to  set  down  here  my  willing- 
ness to  practise  rare  secrets  (though  somewhat  collateral 
to  my  profession),  for  the  help,  conservation,  and  aug- 
mentation of  beauty  and  comeliness  ;  a  thing  created  at 
first  by  God,  chiefly  for  the  glory  of  His  own  name,  and 
then  for  the  better  establishment  of  mutual  love  between 
man  and  woman  ;  for  when  God  had  bestowed  on  man 
the  power  of  strength  and  wisdom,  and  thereby  rendered 
woman  liable  to  the  subjection  of  his  absolute  will,  it 
seemed  but  requisite  that  she  should  be  endued  likewise, 
in  recompense,  with  some  quality  that  might  beget  in 
him  admiration  of  her,  and  so  enforce  his  tenderness  and 

love. 

"The  knowledge  of  these  secrets  I  gathered  in  ray 
travels  abroad  (where  I  have  spent  my  time  ever  since  I 
was  fifteen  years  old,  to  this  my  nine  and  twentieth  year) 
in  France  and  Italy.  Those  that  have  travelled  in  Italy 
will  tell  you  what  a  miracle  art  does  there  assist  nature 
in  the  preservation  of  beauty ;  how  women  of  forty  bear 
the  same  countenance  with  those  of  fifteen ;  ages  are  no 
ways  distinguished  by  faces  ;  whereas,  here  in  England, 
look  a  horse  in  the  mouth,  and  a  woman  in  the  face,  you 


OR,    ENGLAND    UNDER   CHARLES   II. 


183 


presently  know  both  their  ages  to  a  year.  I  will,  there- 
fore, give  you  such  remedies  that,  without  destroying 
your  complexion  (as  most  of  your  paints  and  daubingsdo) 
shall  render  them  perfectly  fair ;  clearing  and  preserving 
them  from  all  spots,  freckles,  heats,  pimples,  and  marks  of 
the  small-pox,  or  any  other  accidental  ones,  so  the  face 
be  not  seamed  or  scarred. 

"  I  will  also  cleanse  and  preserve  your  teeth  white  and 
round  as  pearls,  fastening  them  that  are  loose ;  your  gums 
shall  be  kept  entire,  as  red  as  coral ;  your  lips  of  the  same 
colour,  and  soft  as  you  could  wish  your  lawful  kisses. 

^'  I  will  likewise  administer  that  which  shall  cure  the 
worst  of  breaths,  provided  the  lungs  be  not  totally 
perished  and  imposthumated ;  as  also  certain  and  infal- 
lible remedies  for  those  whose  breaths  are  yet  untainted ; 
so  that  nothing  but  either  a  very  long  sickness,  or  old  age 
itself,  shall  ever  be  able  to  spoil  them. 

*^  I  will,  besides  (if  it  be  desired)  tahe  away  from  their 
fatness,  who  have  over  much,  and  add  flesh  to  those  that 
want  it,  without  the  least  detriment  to  their  constitutions. 

"  Now,  should  Galen  himself  look  out  of  his  grave,  and 
tell  me  these  were  troubles  below  the  profession  of  a 
physician,  I  would  boldy  answer  him,  that  I  take  more 
glory  in  preserving  God's  image  in  its  unblemished 
beauty,  upon  one  good  face,  than  I  should  do  in  patching 
up  all  the  decayed  carcases  in  the  world. 

"  They  that  will  do  me  the  fiivour  to  come  to  me,  shall 
be  sure,  from  three  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon  till  eight 
at  night,  at  my  lodgings  in  Tower  Street,  next  door  to  the 
sign  of  the  Black  Swan,  at  a  goldsmith's  house,  to  find 

"  Their  humble  servant, 

"Alexander  Bendo." 


184 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


The  fame  of  Alexander  Bendo  soon  spread  to  tlie  west- 
end  of   the  town,  and  the  maids  of  honour   sent  their 
servants  to  wait  upon  him,  and  secretly  put  to  the  test 
his  supposed  wonderful  powers.     His  knowledge  of  the 
inner  life  of  the  Court,  and  of  its  scandals  and  intri^^ues, 
enabled   him  to  answer  their  questions   in   a   way  that 
caused  either  alarm  or  diversion,  according  to  circum- 
stances.      The   curiosity   of  Miss   Jennings,   afterwards 
Duchess  of  Tyrconnel,  and  Miss  Price,  two  of  the  most 
daring   of    the    court   sirens,    was    so   moved   that   they 
ventured  on  the  hazardous  enterprise  of  visiting  the  new 
magician  in  person.     Disguised  as  orange-girls  they  drove 
thither  in  a  hackney-coach,  but  when  within  half  a  street 
of  the  desired  goal  attracted  the  attention  of  the  infamous 
Brouneker— ^'  a  pestilent  rogue,"  says  Pepys,  "  an  atheist, 
that  would  have  sold  his  King  and  country  for  sixpence 
almost,  so  corrupt  and  wicked  a  rogue  he  is  by  all  men^s 
report" — and,    to  escape  his   insolent   addresses,   aban- 
doned  their  design.      "While    they   were   under  these 
alarms,"   says   Count   Hamilton,   "their   coachman   was 
engaged  in  a  squabble  with  some  blackguard  boys,  who 
had   gathered   round    his   coach   in   order  to    steal  the 
oranges;    from    words    they   came   to   blows:    the   two 
nymphs  saw  the  commencement  of  the  fray  as  they  were 
returning  to   the  coach,    after    having    abandoned    the 
design  of  going  to  the  fortune-teller's.     Their  coachman 
being  a  man  of  spirit,  it  was  with  great  difficulty  they 
could  persuade  him  to  leave   their  oranges  to  the  mob, 
that  they  might  get  off  without  any  furthur  disturbance  : 
having  thus  regained  their  hack,  after  a  thousand  frights, 
and  after  having  received  an  abundant  share  of  the  most 
low  and  infamous  abuse  applied  to  them  during  the  fracas. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  11. 


185 


they  at  length  reached  St.  James's,  vowing  never  more 
to  go  after  fortune-tellers,  through  so  many  dangers, 
terrors,  and  alarms,  as  they  had  lately  undergone.-" 

Eochester  was  soon  afterwards  recalled  to  Court,  where 
he  resumed  his  old  course  of  profligate  folly.  In  his  lucid 
intervals  he  read  a  good  deal,  and  it  seems  that  he  was 
specially  partial  to  the  study  of  history.  He  did  not 
refrain  from  his  ironical  comments  on  his  Sovereign's 
infirmities.  Charles  was  very  fond  of  repeating  the  story 
of  his  adventures  in  Scotland  and  Paris,  and  this  he  did 
with  such  frequency  that  Rochester  said,  severely,  "  He 
wondered  that  a  man  with  so  good  a  memory  as  to  repeat 
the  same  story  without  losing  the  least  circumstance,  yet 
could  not  remember  that  he  had  told  it  to  the  same 
person  the  very  day  before."  Still  sharper  was  the  well- 
known  epigram  which  penetrated  even  through  the  King's 
easy  indifference : — 

**  Here  lies  onr  sovereign  lord  the  King, 
Whose  word  no  man  relies  on  j 
He  never  said  a  foolish  thing, 
And  never  did  a  wise  one.'* 

The  Sting  of  this  terse  satire  lay,  no  doubt,  in  its  truth. 
Charles,  we  are  told,  never  forgave  it. 

Like  Lord  Ljtton^s  Gabriel  Varney,  Rochester  possessed 
a  constitution  which  alcoholic  excess  could  not  directly 
affect.  It  was  a  dangerous  organisation,  and,  perhaps, 
the  ruin  of  his  life  was  partly  owing  to  this  physical 
gift.  "He  was  unhappily  made  for  drunkenness,"  saya 
Bishop  Burnet,  "  for  he  had  drank  all  his  friends  dead, 
and  was  able  to  subdue  two  or  three  sets  of  drunkards 
one  after  another  :  so  it  scarce  ever  appeared  that  he  was 
disordered  after  the  greatest  drinking  :  an  hour  or  two  of 


186 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


sleep  carried  all  off  entirely,  that  no  sign  of  tliem  re- 
mained. He  would  go  about  business  without  any  un- 
easiness, or  discovering  heat  either  in  body  or  mind." 
But  a  terrible  Nemesis  dogged  the  profligate's  footsteps. 
"  After  he  had  killed  all  his  friends,  he  fell  at  last  into 
such  weakness  of  stomach,  that  he  had  perpetual  choHc 
when  he  was  not  within,  and  full  of  strong  liquor,  of 
which  he  was  frequently  seized,  so  that  he  was  always 
either  sick  or  drunk." 

He  was  not  yet  thirty  when  his  constitution  suddenly 
gave  way,  and  the  brilliant  wit  found  himself  overtaken 
by  a  premature  old  age.  Feeble  and  weary,  dissatisfied 
with  himself,  conscious  of  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
abused  his  powers,  he  began  to  turn  his  mind  to  serious 
thoughts,  and  with  remorse  for  the  past  mingled  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  future.  Might  not  that  religion  be  true 
which  he  had  so  constantly  ridiculed  ?  And  if  so,  then, 
indeed,  he  had  cause  to  tremble !  About  this  time  he 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Bishop  Burnet,  and  held  with  him 
many  earnest  conversations  on  those  great  truths  which 
concern  the  eternal  destiny  of  man.  The  Bishop  has  left 
a  record  of  these  conversations,  which  it  is  impossible  to 
read  without  the  liveliest  interest.  Eochester  was  not  at 
once  converted ;  but  it  does  not  appear  that  he  ever  had 
been  a  confirmed  atheist,  and  his  disbelief  was  that  of  the 
head  rather  than  that  of  the  heart. 

In  the  spring  of  1680,  Eochester  retired  to  his  country 
seat  at  Woodstock,  and  in  the  fresh  country  air  recovered 
some  small  portion  of  his  former  health.  But  the  exer- 
tion of  a  long  journey  on  horseback  into  Somersetshire 
proved  too  much  for  his  enfeebled  frame,  and  he  returned 
to  Woodstock  with  the    shadow    of    death  upon  him. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


187 


^1 


Suffering  acutely  from  a  troubled  conscience,  he  sought 
the  advice  of  Mr.  Parsons,  his  mother's  chaplain ;  he 
was  also  attended  by  the  Bishop  of  Oxford,  Dr.  Marshall, 
rector  of  Lincoln,  and  Dr.  Pierce,  President  of  Magdalen. 
One  day,  while  Mr.  Parsons  was  reading  to  the  invalid 
that  53rd  chapter  of  Isaiah,  which  has  ever  been  expressibly 
dear  to  the  Christian,  a  sudden  light  seemed  to  break  upon 
his  mind,  and  the  darkness  of  unfaith  in  which  he  had 
hitherto  been  involved  was  swept  aside.  He  was  not 
only  convinced  by  the  argument  which  Mr.  Parsons 
founded  upon  it,  but  by  a  Divine  power  which  moved 
Mm  so  effectually  that  thenceforward  he  believed  as 
firmly  in  his  Saviour  as  if,  like  Thomas,  he  had  seen  the 
wounded  side,  and  the  prints  of  the  nails  in  the  hands 
and  feet.  The  sincerity  and  completeness  of  his  con- 
version appear  in  the  letter  which,  at  this  time,  he  wrote 
to  Dr.  Pierce : — 

"My  indisposition  renders  my  intellectuals  almost  as 
feeble  as  my  person,  but  considering  the  candour  and  ex- 
treme charity  your  natural  mildness  hath  always  shown 
me,  I  am  assured  at  once  of  a  favourable  construction  of 
my  present  lines,  which  can  but  faintly  express  the 
sorrowful  character  of  an  humble  and  afflicted  mind: 
and  also  those  great  comforts  your  inexhaustible  good- 
ness, learning,  and  piety,  plenteously  afford  to  the  droop- 
ing spirits  of  poor  sinners,  so  that  I  may  truly  say, — 
Holy  man!  to  you  I  owe  what  consolation  I  enjoy^  in 
urging  God's  mercies  against  despair,  and  holding  me  up 
under  the  weight  of  those  high  and  mountainous  sins,  my 
wicked  and  ungovernable  life  hath  heaped  upon  me.  If 
God  shall  be  pleased  to  spare  me  a  little  longer  here,  I 
have  unalterably  resolved  to  become  a  new  man ;  to  wash 


188 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


out  the  stains  of  my  lewd  courses  with  my  tears,  and  weep 
over  the  profane  and  unhallowed  abominations  of  my 
former  doings ;  that  the  world  may  see  how  I  loath  sin, 
and  abhor  the  very  remembrance  of  those  tainted  and  un- 
clean joys  [  once  delighted  in  ;  these  being,  as  the  Apostle 
tells  us,  the  things  whereof  I  am  now  ashamed ;  or,  if  it 
be  His  great  pleasure  now  to  put  a  period  to  my  days,  that 
He  will  accept  my  last  gasp,  that  the  smoke  of  my  death- 
bed offering  may  not  be  unsavoury  to  His  nostrils,  and 
drive  me  like  Cain  from  His  presence. 

"  Pray  for  me,  dear  Doctor,  and  all  you  that  forget  not 
God,  pray  for  me  fervently.  Take  heaven  by  force,  and 
let  me  enter  with  you  in  disguise ;  for  I  dare  not  appear 
before  the  dread  majesty  of  that  Holy  One  I  have  so  often 
offended.  Warn  all  my  friends  and  companions  to  a 
true  and  sincere  repentance  to-day,  while  it  is  called  to- 
day, before  the  evil  day  come  and  they  be  no  more.  Let 
them  know  that  sin  is  like  the  AngeFs  book  in  the  Revela- 
tions, it  is  sweet  in  the  mouth,  but  bitter  in  the  belly. 
Let  them  know  that  God  will  not  be  mocked ;  that  He  is 
an  holy  God,  and  will  be  served  in  holiness  and  purity, 
that  requires  the  whole  man  and  the  early  man:  bid 
them  make  haste,  for  the  night  cometh  when  no  man  can 
work.  Oh  that  they  were  wise,  that  they  would  consider 
tbis,  and  not  with  me,  with  wretched  me,  delay  it  until 
their  latter  end.  Pray,  dear  sir,  continually  pray  for 
your  poor  friend, 

"EOCHESTEE." 

A  narrative  exists  in  the  British  Museum  of  a  visit  paid 
to  the  dying  Earl  by  one  of  his  boon  companions,  who 
seems  to  have  been  ignorant  of  his  illness : — 

"When  Wilmot,  Earl  of  Rochester,  lay  on  his  death- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


189 


bed,  Mr.  Fanshawe*  came  to  visit  him,  with  an  intention 
to  stay  about  a  week  with  him.  Mr.  Fanshawe,  sitting 
by  the  bedside,  perceived  his  lordship  praying  to  God 
through  Jesus  Christ,  and  acquainted  Dr.  Eadcliffe,  who 
attended  my  Lord  Rochester  in  this  illness,  and  was  then 
in  the  house,  with  what  he  had  heard  •  and  told  him,  that 
my  lord  was  certainly  delirious,  for  to  his  knowledge,  he 
said,  he  believed  neither  in  God  nor  in  Jesus  Christ.  The 
doctor,  who  had  often  heard  him  pray  in  the  same 
manner,  proposed  to  Mr.  Fanshawe  to  go  up  to  his  lord- 
ship to  be  further  satisfied  touching  this  affair.  When 
they  came  to  his  room,  the  doctor  told  my  lord  what  Mr. 
Fanshawe  said,  upon  which  his  lordship  addressed  himself 
to  Mr.  Fanshawe,  to  this  effect :  *  Sir,  it  is  true  you  and  I 
have  been  very  bad  and  profane  together,  and  then  I  was 
of  the  opinion  you  mention.  But  now  I  am  quite  of 
another  mind,  and  happy  am  I  that  I  am  so.  I  am  very 
sensible  how  miserable  I  was  whilst  of  another  opinion. 
Sir,  you  may  assure  yourself  that  there  is  a  Judge  and 
future  state ; '  and  so  entered  into  a  very  handsome  dis- 
course concerning  the  Last  Judgment,  future  state,  &c., 
and  concluded  with  a  serious  and  pathetic  exhortation  to 
Mr,  Fanshawe,  to  enter  into  another  course  of  life ;  adding 
that  he  (Mr.  F.)  knew  him  to  be  his  friend ;  that  he  never 
was  more  so  than  at  this  time  :  and,  '  Sir,'  said  he,  '  to 
use  a  Scripture  expression,  I  am  not  mad,  bat  speak  the 
words  of  truth  and  soberness.'  Upon  this  Mr.  Fanshawe 
trembled,  and  went  immediately  a-foot  to  Woodstock,  and 
there  hired  a  horse  to  Oxford,  and  thence  took  coach  to 
London." 

*  Probably  Mr.  William  Fanshawe,  who  married  Mary,  one  of  Charles 
II.'s  daughters  by  Mary  Walters. 


liiBpri  fttf-.  j-itiiiriiirif  nanaiiiii 


n 


190 


THE    MERRY   MOl^ARCH ; 


Bistop  Burnet  was  a  welcome  visitor  to  tlie  bedside  of 
the  dying  Earl,  who  told  him,  at  intervals,  for  he  was  in 
too  feeble  a  condition  to  hold  any  prolonged  speech,  of 
the  remorse  with  which  he  looked  back  upon  his  mis- 
spent life  and  its  wasted  opportunities, — of  his  deep  contri- 
tion for  having  so  offended  his  Maker  and  dishonoured 
his  Eedeemer, — and  of  the  longing  with  which  he  turned 
to  his  God  and  crucified  Saviour.  He  hoped  to  obtain  the 
Divine  mercy,  for  he  knew  and  felt  that  he  had  sincerely 
repented ;  and  after  the  storm  and  stress  in  which  his 
mind  had  been  tossed  for  weeks,  he  now  enjoyed  a 
heavenly  calm.  At  one  time  he  asked  Burnet  what  he 
thought  of  the  efficacy  of  a  death-bed  repentance.  At 
another,  he  declared  that,  as  for  himself,  he  freely  forgave 
all  who  had  done  him  wrong;  he  bore  ill  will  to  no  man, 
he  had  made  arrangements  for  the  payment  of  his  debts, 
and  suffered  pain  with  cheerfulness.  He  was  content  to 
live  or  die,  as  God  pleased ;  and  though  it  was  a  foolish 
thing  for  a  man  to  pretend  to  choose  whether  he  would 
live  or  die,  yet,  so  far  as  wishes  went,  he  was  fain  to  die 
and  be  at  rest.  He  knew  that  he  could  never  again 
recover  his  health  so  ftir  that  life  would  leave  any  comfort 
for  him ;  and  while  he  was  confident  he  should  be  happy 
if  he  died,  he  feared  that  if  he  lived  he  might  relapse.  To 
his  friends  he  sent  affectionate  messages,  reminding  them 
of  the  uncertain  tenure  of  life,  and  enjoining  them  to 
publish  to  the  world  any  circumstances  connected  with 
his  own  life  and  death  which  might  possibly  prove  of 
benefit  to  others.  It  was  his  prayer,  he  said,  that  as  by 
his  life  he  had  inflicted  injury  upon  religion,  he  might  at 
least  do  it  some  service  by  his  death. 

At  the  Bishop's  hands  he  received  the  bread  and  wine 


< 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


191 


of  the  Holy  Eucharist,  his  wife,  for  whom  he  expressed 
the  most  tender  affection,  participating  with  him.  His 
children  were  brought  to  his  bedside;  he  took  leave 
of  them  lovingly,  and  bestowed  upon  them  his  solemn 
blessing.  He  sent,  too,  for  all  his  servants,  and  while 
they  surrounded  his  bed,  declared  to  them  in  strong  and 
simple  words  his  regret  for  his  dissolute  life  and  pernicious 
opinions.  At  last,  the  slow  decay  came  to  an  end ;  the 
flickering  lamp  of  life  went  out;  and  this  man  of  brilliant 
parts  and  rare  gifts  expired,  in  the  thirty-third  year  of 
his  age,  on  the  26th  of  July,  1680.  He  was  interred  by 
the  side  of  his  father  in  the  north  aisle  of  Spilsbury 
Church,  Oxfordshire. 

By  his  Countess,  Eochester  left  four  children  ;  Charles, 
the  third  Earl,  who  died  on  the  12th  of  November,  1686, 
and  with  whom  the  title  became  extinct ;  Anne,  whose 
second  husband  was  Francis,  the  son  of  Fulke  Greville, 
Lord  Broke;  Elizabeth,  afterwards  wife  of  Edward 
Montague,  Earl  of  Sandwich ;  and  Mallet,  who  married 
John  Yaughan,  first  Viscount  Lisburne. 

M.  Taine's  portrait  of  Eochester  is  painted  in  the 
darkest  colours.  Byron  allows  his  Corsair  "  one  virtue" 
as  a  set-off  against  his  "thousand  crimes,"  but  Taine 
deals  less  mercifully  with  the  dissolute  Earl.  Here  is  his 
incisive  sketch : — 

"His  manners  were  those  of  a  lawless  and  wretched 
mountebank;  his  delight  was  to  haunt  the  stews,  to  de- 
bauch  women,  to  write  filthy  songs  and  lewd  pamphlets ; 
he  spent  his  time  between  gossipping  with  the  maids  of 
honour,  broils  with  men  of  letters,  the  receiving  of  insults, 
the  givmg  of  blows.  By  way  of  playing  the'' gallant  he' 
eloped  with  his  wife  before  he  married  her.     Out  of  a 


192 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


spirit  of  bravado,  he  declined  fighting  a  duel,  and  gained 
the  name  of  a  coward.     For  five  years  together  he  was 
said  to  be  drunk.     The  spirit  within  him  failing  of  a 
worthy  outlet,  plunged  him  into  adventures  more  befitting 
a  clown.     Once  with  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  he  rented 
an  inn  on  the  Newmarket  road,  and  turned  innkeeper, 
supplying   the  husbands  with   drink  and  defiling  their 
wives.     He   introduced    himself,    disguised    as    an    old 
woman,  into  the  house  of  a  miser,  robbed  him  of  his  wife, 
and  passed  her  on  to  Buckingham.     The  husband  hanged 
himself;    they  made   very    merry    over  the   affair.     At 
another  time  he  disguised  himself  as  a  chairman,  then  as 
a  beggar,  and  paid  court  to  the  gutter-girls.     He  ended 
by  turning  a  quack  astrologer,  and  vendor  of  drugs  for 
procuring  abortion,  in  the  suburbs.    It  was  the  licentious- 
ness   of  a  fervid   imagination,    which   fouled   itself  as 
another  would  have  adorned  it,  which  forced  its  way  into 
lewdness  and  folly  as  another  would  have  done  into  sense 

and  beauty.'^ 

All  this  may  be,  and,  indeed,  is  true  ;  but  on  the  other 
side  it  is  only  fair  to  remember  that  this  profligate  wit  was 
capable  of  generous  actions,  and  had  the  grace,  in  his 
soberer  moments,  to  be  ashame^l  of  the  life  he  led,  and  of 
the  waste  of  powers  of  which  he  was  guilty.     There  is 
this  excuse— we  do  not  put  it  forward  as  altogether  satis- 
factory—to  be    made  for  Rochester   and   his  roistering 
companions  ;  that  with  superabundant  vitality,   and  all 
the    energy   and   ripe   vigour  of    their   race,   they    had 
absolutely  no  fitting  field  of  action  open  to  them.    Beyond 
the  seas  no  such  outlets  for  a  spirit  of  adventure  were  open 
then  as  are  open  now ;  no  great  war  braced  up  their  man- 
hood,  and  awakened  their  loftier  impulses.  ParHamentary 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


193 


I 


life  offered  no  generous  and  elevating  career  ;  no  healthy 
public  opinion  held  in  check  their  riotous  and  exuberant 
animalism.     So  they  went  into  the  streets  and  the  stews, 
and  there  exhausted  the  gifts   and  graces  which,  under 
happier  circumstances,  might  have  done  so  much  for  their 
country  and  themselves.     They  were  unfortunate  in  the 
age  into  which  they  were  born.     A  century  earlier,  and 
they    would  have  shone  among  the  daring  spirits  who 
adorned  the  times  of  great  Elizabeth.     A  century  later, 
and   their  pulses   would   have   been  stirred  by  that  in- 
spiration of  freedom  and  humanity  which  breathed  a  new 
life  into  the  dry  bones  of  the  European  nations.     As  it 
was,   they  came  into  an  atmosphere  of  corruption  and 
luxurious    apathy,  and    sensual  indulgence,  the  evil  in- 
fluence of  which  not  even  a  Sidney  or  a  Eussell  could 
wholly  escape.     We  may  and  must  condemn  them,  and 
yet    something   of    pity   may   rightly  mingle    with  our 


anger. 


On  the  literary  work  of  Rochester  we  are  not  prepared 
to  say  that  M.  Taine's  criticism  is  wholly  just.  He  makes 
no  attempt  to  separate  the  golden  grain  from  the  worth- 
less chaff,  while  he  evidently  accepts  as  Rochester's  very 
much  which  belongs  to  other  and  even  filthier  writers. 

''  We  cannot  copy,"  he  says,  "  even  the  titles  of  his 
poems ;  they  were  written  only  for  the  haunts  of  vice. 
Stendhal  said  that  love  is  like  a  dried-up  bough  cast  into 
a  mine;  the  crystals  cover  it,  spread  out  into  filigree 
work,  and  end  by  converting  the  worthless  stick  into  a 
sparkling  tuft  of  the  purest  diamonds.  Rochester  begins 
by  depriving  love  of  all  its  adornment,  and  to  make  sure 
of  grasping  it,  converts  it  into  a  stick.     Eveiy  refined 

VOL.    II.  n 


194 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


sentiment,   every  fancy;   tlie    enchantment,  the   serene, 
sublime  glow  which  transforms  in  a  moment  this  wretched 
world  of  ours;  the  illusion  which,  uniting  all  the  powers 
of  our  being,  shows  as  perfection  in  a  finite  creature,  and 
eternal  bliss  in  a  transient  emotion,  all  has  vanished; 
there  remain  but  satiated   appetites   and  palled  senses. 
The  worst   of  it  is,  that  he  writes  without  spirit,  and 
methodically    enough.     He  has  no  natural  ardour,   no 
picturesque  sensuality  ;  his  satires  prove  him  a  disciple  of 
Boileau.    Nothing  is  more  disgusting  than  obscenity  in 
cold  blood.     We  can  endure  the  obscene  works  of  Giulio 
Eomano,   and   his  Venetian   voluptuousness,  because  in 
them  genius  sets  ofi  sensuality,  and  the  loveliness  of  the 
splendid  coloured  draperies  transforms  an  orgie  into  a 
work    of    art.*     We  pardon    Eabelais,   when  we  have 
entered  into  the  deep  current  of  manly  joy  and  vigour, 
with  which  his  feasts  abound.     We  can  hold  our  nose  and 
have  done  with  it,  while  we  follow  with  admiration,  and 
even  sympathy,  the  torrent  of  ideas  and  fancies  which 
flows  through  his  mire.     But  to  see  a  man  trying  to  be 
elegant  and  remaining  obscene,  endeavouring  to  paint  the 
sentiments  of  a  navvy  in  the  language  of  a  man  of  the 
world,  who  tries  to  find  a  suitable  metaphor  for  every 
kind  of  filth,  who  plays  the  blackguard  studiously  and 
deliberately,  who,  excused  neither  by  genuine  feeling,  nor 
the  glow  of  fancy,  nor  knowledge,  nor  genius,  degrades  a 
good  style  of  writing  to   such  work ;  it  is  like  a  rascal 
who  sets  himself  to  sully  a  set  of  gems  in  a  gutter.    The 

♦  Rnt  Giulio  Komano,  and  the  writers  who  write  as  Romano  painted,  are 
infinitely  more  dangerous  than  Kocheeter.  Evelyn  saw  that  the  insmuated 
Bensuality  of  "gentle  Etherege"  and  Sedley  was  more  corrupting  than 
EoXster'B  open  lewdness.  As  for  Rabela  s.  he  descends  mto  depths  mto 
which  even  Rochester  would  hardly  have  followed  him. 


1 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


195 


end  of  all  is  but  disgust  and  illness.  While  La  Fontaine 
continues  to  the  last  day  capable  of  tenderness  and  happi- 
ness, this  man  at  the  age  of  thirty  insults  the  weaker  sex 
with  spiteful  malignity : — 

*  When  she  is  young,  she  whores  herself  for  sport ; 
And  when  she's  old,  she  bawds  for  her  support. 
She  is  a  snare,  a  shamble,  and  a  stews  ; 
Her  meat  and  sauce  she  does  for  lechery  choose, 
And  does  in  laziness  delight  the  more, 
Because  by  that  she  is  provoked  to  whore. 
Ungrateful,  treacherous,  eaviously  inclined, 
Wild  beasts  are  tamed,  floods  easier  far  confined. 
Than  is  her  stubborn  and  rebellious  mind    . 
Her  temper  so  extravagant  we  find, 
She  hates,  or  is  impertinently  kind. 
Would  she  be  grave,  she  then  looks  like  a  devil, 
And  like  a  fool  or  whore,  when  she  be  civil. 
Contentious,  wicked,  and  not  fit  to  trust. 
And  covetous  to  spend  it  on  her  lust.' 

What  a  confession  is  such  a  judgment!  what  an  abstract 
of  life  !  You  see  the  roisterer  stupified  at  the  end  of  his 
career,  dried  up  like  a  mummy,  eaten  away  by  ulcers. 
Amid  the  choruses,  the  crude  satires,  the  remembrance  of 
plans  miscarried,  the  sullied  enjoyments  which  are  heaped 
up  in  his  wearied  brain  as  in  a  sink,  the  fear  of  damnation 
is  persecuting;  he  dies  a  devotee  at  the  age  of  thirty- 
three." 

That  Rochester's  coarse  lines  embody  a  libel  on  woman 
we  readily  admit,  but  Rochester  drew  from  the  women  he 
was  acquainted  with— the  shameless  harlots,  the  aban- 
doned adulteresses,  who  made  Charles's  Court  hideous. 
See  them  in  the  pages  of  Hamilton  and  Pepys,*  and 
you  feel  that  the  wonder  is,  not  that  Rochester  wrote  of 

*  One  specimen  will  suffice:-"  Here,"  says  Pepys,  "I  first  understood  by 
their  talk  the  meaning  of  company  that  were  lately  called  Bailers  •  Harris 
telling  how  It  was  by  a  meeting  of  some  young  blades,  where  he  was  among 
them,  and  my  Lady  Burnet  and  her  ladies ;  and  their  dancing  naked,  and  all 
the  roguish  things  m  the  world."  ' 


1 


196 


THE   MERRY    MONARCH; 


them  with  such  savage  cynicism,  but  that  he  did  not 
rather  curse  them  as  the  cause  of  his  indecency.  How 
dijfferent  might  have  been  his  life  and  death  had  he  but 
had  the  good  fortune  to  fall  under  the  purifying  influence 
of  some  woman  worthy  of  the  name!  if  he  had  lived 
among  the  Violas  and  Imogens  of  Shakespeare  instead 
of  among  the  Lucys  and  Lady  Dapperwits  of  Wycherley  ! 

Eochester  was  unquestionably  a  man  of  versatile  genius, 
who,  with  wider  culture  and  more  knowledge  of  men  and 
manners,  might  have  added  something  considerable  to  his 
country's  literature.  As  it  was,  he  expended  himself, 
when  at  his  best  and  sanest,  upon  trifles.  He  had  no 
earnest  ambition,  no  lofty  purpose;  he  took  no  serious 
view  of  life;  it  was  enough  for  him  if  he  pleased  a 
mistress  with  a  dainty  love-song  or  stung  a  rival  with 
an  epigram.  Yet  his  natural  vigour  and  strength  were 
such  that  epigram  and  love-song  had  almost  always  in 
them  a  true  poetic  touch.  Unhappily  his  writings  are 
stained  by  the  lewdness  which  then  permeated  the  social  life 
of  the  English  upper  classes,  and  the  wit  and  fancy  which 
were  capable  of  really  noble  work  were  degraded  to  the 
level  of  the  bagnio.  But  we  must  again  remind  the  reader 
that  a  large  proportion  of  the  coarse  and  indelicate  verses 
ascribed  to  Eochester  were  not  written  by  him,  and  that 
the  only  authentic  edition  of  his  works  is  that  which  was 
published  in  169L 

When  he  chose  he  could  write  with  a  grace,  a  playful- 
ness, and  a  rhythmical  flow  worthy  of  all  praise.  For 
instance,  the  freshness,  the  tender  exaggeration,  the  simple 
sweetness  of  the  following  song  must  be  felt  by  every 
reader,  and  especially  by  the  reader  who  is  still  in  the 
flush  of  his  first  true  passion  : — 


I 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  11. 


197 


"  My  dear  Mistress  has  a  heart 

Soft  as  those  kind  looks  she  gave  me 
When,  with  love's  resistless  art, 

And  her  eyes  she  did  enslave  me ; 
But  her  constancy's  so  weak, 

She's  so  wild  and  apt  to  wander, 
That  my  jealous  heart  would  break 

Should  we  live  one  day  asunder. 

Melting  joys  about  her  move, 

Killing  pleasures,  wounding  blisses, 
She  can  dress  her  eyes  in  love, 

And  her  lips  can  arm  with  kisses  ; 
Angels  listen  when  she  speaks, 

She's  my  delight,  all  mankind's  wonder, 
But  my  jealous  heart  would  break, 

Should  we  live  one  day  asunder." 

He  manages  double-syllable  endings  with  happy  facility. 
€an  anything  be  more  fluent  and  graceful  than  this  ?— 

"  When  on  those  lovely  looks  I  gaze, 

To  see  a  wretch  pursuing, 
In  raptures  of  a  blest  amaze. 

His  pleasing  happy  ruin, 
'Tis  not  for  pity  that  I  move ; 

His  fate  is  too  aspiring, 
Whose  heart,  broke  with  a  load  of  love, 

Dies  wishing  and  admiring. 

But  if  this  murder  you'd  forego, 

Your  slave  from  death  removing, 
Let  me  your  art  of  charming  know, 

Or  you  learn  mine  of  loving  ; 
But  whether  life  or  death  betide, 

In  love  'tis  equal  measure, 
The  victor  lives  with  empty  pride. 

The  vanquished  dies  with  pleasure." 

In  his  lyric  on  "  The  Bowl ''  there  is  evidence  of  a  facile 
fancy,  while  the  versification  is  perfect  in  its  musical  flow 
and  exquisite  choice  of  words : — 

THE  BOWL. 

"  Contrive  me,  Vulcan,  such  a  cup 
As  Nestor  used  of  old, 
Show  all  thy  skill  to  trim  it  up, 
Damask  it  round  with  gold. 


\ 


198  THE    MERRY    MONARCH  ; 

Make  it  so  large  that,  filled  with  sack 

Up  to  the  swelling  brim, 
Vast  toasts  on  that  delicious  lake, 

Like  ships  at  sea,  may  swim. 

Engrave  not  battle  on  his  cheek, 

With  war  I've  nought  to  do, 
I'm  none  of  those  that  took  Maestrick, 

Nor  Yarmouth  leaguer  knew. 

Let  it  no  name  of  planets  tell, 

Fixed  stars  or  constellations, 
For  I  am  no  Sir  Sindropliel, 

Nor  none  of  his  relations. 

But  carve  thereon  a  spreading  vine  ; 

Then  add  two  lovely  boys: 
Their  limbs  in  amorous  folds  entwine, 

The  types  of  future  joys. 

Cupid  and  Bacchus  my  saints  are, 

May  Drink  and  Love  still  reign, 
With  wine  I  wash  away  my  care, 

And  then  to  love  again." 

One  more  specimen  of  liis  powers  as  a  lyrist^  wliicli  we 
take  as  foisted  by  him  upon  Fletcher's  tragedy  of  "  Valen- 
tinian.^'  A  comparison  of  it  with  Fletcher's  own  lyrics 
will  illustrate  the  singular  change  in  the  spirit  and  form 
of  English  poetry  which  had  been  effected  in  half  a  cen- 
tury ^ : — 

Nymph. 

'*  Injurious  charmer  of  my  vanquished  heart, 
Canst  thou  feel  love,  and  yet  no  pity  know  ? 
Since  of  myself  from  thee  I  cannot  part, 
Invent  some  gentle  way  to  let  me  go; 

For  what  with  joy  thou  didst  obtain, 

And  I  with  more  did  give. 
In  time  will  make  thee  false  and  vain, 
And  me  unfit  to  live." 

*  Fletcher  died  in  1625 — twenty-two  years  before  Rochester's  birth,  and 
fifty-five  before  his  death. 


< 


OR,    ENGLAND   UNDER   CHARLES    II.  199 

Shepherd, 

"  Frail  angel,  that  wouldst  leave  a  heart  forlorn, 
With  vain  pretence  Falsehood  therein  might  lie, 
Seek  not  to  cast  wild  shadows  o'er  your  scorn, 
You  cannot  sooner  change  than  I  can  die ; 
To  tedious  life  I'll  never  fall, 

Thrown  from  thy  dear-loved  breast ! 
He  merits  not  to  live  at  all 
Who  cares  to  live  unblest." 

"With  Eochester,"  says  Mr.  Grosse,  "the  power  of 
writing  songs  died  in  England  until  the  age  of  Blake 
and  Burns.  He  was  the  last  of  the  Cavalier  lyrists,  and 
in  some  respects  the  best.  In  the  qualities  that  a  song 
demands,  simplicity,  brevity,  pathos,  and  tenderness,  he 
arrives  nearer  to  pure  excellence  than  any  one  between 
Carew  and  Burns.  His  style  is  without  adornment,  and, 
save  in  this  one  matter  of  song-writing,  he  is  weighed 
down  by  the  dryness  and  insufficiency  of  his  age.  But  by 
the  side  of  Sedley  or  of  Congreve  he  seems  as  fresh  as  by 
the  side  of  Dry  den  he  seems  light  and  flowing,  turning 
his  trill  of  song  brightly  and  sweetly,  with  the  consum- 
mate artlessness  of  true  art." 

His  satires  are  vigorous  enough,  but  so  stained  with 
licentiousness  that  we  cannot  quote  from  them.  We  note, 
however,  a  terse  and  telling  allusion  to  Charles  II.  as 

"  A  merry  monarch,  scandalous  and  poor." 

Modern  readers  will  hardly  agree  with  Johnson  that 

the  poem   "  On   Nothing "   (suggested,   perhaps,  by  the 

French    poet,    Passerat's,  "  Nihil  ")    is   "  the   strongest 

effort  of    his  muse  ; "   but  it  contains  some   ingenious 

quips  and  quiddities  : — 

"  Nothing  !  thou  elder  brother  even  to  shade, 
Thou  hadst  a  being  ere  the  world  was  made, 
And,  well  fixed,  art  alone  of  ending  not  afraid.  .  .  . 


'  i 


ill 


j  ■ 


200  THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 

Nothing,  who  dwell'et  with  fools  in  grave  disguise, 

For  whom  they  reverend  shapes  and  forms  devise, 

Lawn  sleeves,  and  furs,  and  gowns,  when  they  like  thee  look  wise. 

French  truth,  Dutch  prowess,  British  policy, 

Hihemian  learning,  Scotch  civility, 

Spaniards'  dispatch,  Danes'  wit,  are  mainly  seen  in  thee." 

Eocliester's  prose  style  was  excellent.  His  letters  are 
among  the  best  in  the  language ;  they  are  written  with 
so  much  clearness,  pertinency,  force,  and  such  happy  terms 
of  expression.  Here  is  one  addressed  to  a  reckless  man 
of  pleasure,  like  himself,  Sir  Henry  Saville  : — 

"  Whether  Love,  Wine,  or  Wisdom,  which  rule  you  by 
turns,  have  the  present  ascendant,  I  can  nor  pretend  to  de- 
termine at  this  distance ;  but  Good  Nature,  which  waits 
about  you  with  more  diligence  than  Godfrey  himself,  is 
my  security  that  you  are  not  unmindful  of  your  former 
friends.  To  be  from  you,  and  forgotten  by  you  at  once, 
is  a  misfortune  I  never  was  criminal  enough  to  merit, 
since  to  the  black  and  fair  countesses  I  villanously  be- 
trayed the  daily  addresses  of  your  divided  heart.  You 
forgave  that  upon  the  first  bottle,  and  upon  the  second, 
on  my  conscience,  would  have  renounced  the  whole  sex. 
Oh  !  that  second  bottle,  Henry,  is  the  sincerest,  wisest, 
and  most  impartial  downright  friend  we  have ;  tells  us 
truth  of  ourselves,  and  forces  us  to  speak  truth  of  others  ; 
banishes  flattery  from  our  tongues  and  distrust  from  our 
hearts  ;  sets  us  above  the  mean  policy  of  court  prudence, 
which  makes  us  lie  to  one  another  all  day,  for  fear  of  being 
betrayed  by  others  at  night.  And  before  God  I  believe 
the  arrantest  villain  breathing  is  honest  as  long  as  that 
bottle  lives,  and  few  of  that  tribe  dare  venture  upon  him, 
at  least  among  the  courtiers  and  statesmen.  I  have 
seriously  considered  one  thing,  that  of  the  three  businesses 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


201 


U  j 


of  this  age— women,  politics,  and  drinking,  the  last  is 
the  only  exercise  at  which  you  and  I  have  not  proved 
ourselves  arrant  fumblers.  If  you  have  the  vanity  to 
think  otherwise,  when  we  meet  next,  let  us  appeal  to 
friends  of  both  sexes,  and,  as  they  shall  determine,  live 
and  die  mere  drunkards  or  entire  lovers:  for,  as  we 
mingle  the  matter,  it  is  hard  to  say  which  is  the  most 
tiresome  creature,  the  loving  drunkard  or  the  drunken 
lover." 

"  Bath,  the  22nd  of  June." 

But  his  letters  to  his  wife  possess  an  additional  charm ; 
the  charm  of  an  affectionate  nature.     They  are  tender, 
playful,  and  loving.     It  is  impossible  to  read  them  with- 
out forming  a  strong  impression  that  their  writer  had  in 
him  the  germs    of   abundant  good,   and,  under  happier 
social  conditions,  or  had  his  life  been  fortunately  inspired 
by  some  noble  motive,  would  have  done  justice  to  his  rich 
endowments  of  mind  and  person.     He  was  the  victim, 
so  far  as  any  man  can  be,  who,  after  all,  has,  to  a  certain 
extent,  his  fate  in  his  own  hands,  of  circumstances.     It 
was  his  misfortune,  while  young,  to  be  thrown  into  the 
midst  of  a  dissolute  Court,  and  to  be  entangled  in  a  web 
of  temptation  from  which  he  never  succeeded  in  extricat- 
ing himself.     His  very  virtues  and  engaging  qualities — 
his  wit,  his  high-bred  manners,  his  fascinating  conversa- 
tion, his  generosity— helped  him  on  to  his  ruin.     But  no 
severer  condemnation  of  the  profligate  society  cherished 
by  Charles  II.  can  be  found,  or  is  needed,  than  that  which 
is  supplied  by  the  wrecked  life  and  dishonoured  name  of 
Eochester. 

Of  his  letters  to  his  wife,  who,  be  it  said,  was  fully 
worthy  of  them,  we  give  some  specimens  : — 


ii 


V  \ 


III 


202 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


"  Wife, 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  news  from  you,  and  I  think 
it  very  good  when  I  hear  you  are  well ;  pray  be  pleased  to 
send  me  word  what  you  are  apt  to  be  pleased  with,  that 
I  may  show  you  how  good  a  husband  I  can  be  ;  I  would 
not  have  you  so  formal  as  to  j  udge  of  the  kindness  of  a 
letter  by  the  lengtli  of  it,  but  believe  of  everything  that 
it  is  as  you  would  have  it. 

^'  'Tis  not  an  easy  thing  to  be  entirely  happy ;  but  to  be 
kind  is  very  easy,  and  that  is  the  greatest  measure  of 
happiness.  I  say  not  this  to  put  you  in  mind  of  being 
kind  to  me  ;  you  have  practised  that  so  long,  that  I  have 
a  joyful  confidence  you  will  never  forget  it ;  but  to  show 
that  I  myself  have  a  sense  of  what  the  methods  of  my 
life  seemed  so  utterly  to  contradict,  I  must  not  be  too 
wise  about  my  own  follies,  or  else  this  letter  had  been  a 
book  dedicated  to  you,  and  published  to  the  world.  It 
will  be  more  pertinent  to  tell  you,  that  very  shortly  the 
King  goes  to  Newmarket,  and  then  I  shall  wait  on  you 
at  Adderbury  ;  in  the  meantime,  think  of  anything  you 
would  have  me  do,  and  I  shall  thank  you  for  the  occa- 
sion of  pleasing  you. 

"  Mr.  Morgan  I  have  sent  on  this  errand,  because  he 
plays  the  rogue  here  in  town  so  extremely,  that  he  is  not 
to  be  endured ;  pray,  if  he  behaves  liimself  so  at  Adder- 
bury,  send  me  word,  and  let  him  stay  till  I  send  for  him. 
Pray,  let  Ned  come  up  to  town ;  I  have  a  little  business 
with  him,  and  he  shall  be  back  in  a  week. 

"  Wonder  not  that  I  have  not  written  to  you  all  this 
while,  for  it  was  hard  for  me  to  know  what  to  write  upon 
several  accounts  ;  but  in  this  I  will  only  desire  you  not  to 
be  too  much  amazed  at  the  thoughts  my  mother  has  of 


i 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


203 


you,  since,  being  mere  imaginations,  they  will  as  easily 
vanish,  as  they  were  groundlessly  created ;  for  my  own 
part,  I  will  make  it  my  endeavour  they  may.  What  you 
desired  of  me  in  your  other  letter,  shall  punctually  be 
performed.  You  must,  I  think,  obey  my  mother  in  her 
commands  to  wait  on  her  at  Aylesbury,  as  I  told  you  in 
my  last  letter.  I  am  very  dull  at  this  time,  and  there- 
fore think  it  pity  in  this  humour  to  testify  myself  to 
you  any  further.  Only,  dear  wife,  I  am  your  humble 
servant, 

"  Rochester." 

There    is   a    pleasant  lively  humour    in   the    follow- 
ing:— 

''  From  our  tub  at  Mrs.  Forward's,  this  18th  of  Oct. 
"  Wife, 

"  We  are  now  in  bed,  so  that  we  are  not  in  a  condition 
of  writing  either  according  to  thy  merit  or  our  desert. 
We  therefore  do  command  thy  benign  acceptance  of  these 
our  letters,  in  what  way  soever  by  us  inscribed  or  not 
directed,  willing  thee  therewithal  to  assure  our  sole 
daughter  and  her  issue  female,  the  Lady  Anne  Tart,  of 
our  best  respects.  This  with  your  care  and  diligence,  in 
the  execution  of  our  firmans,  is  at  present  the  utmost  of 
our  will  and  pleasure. 

"  I  went  away  like  a  rascal  without  taking  leave,  dear 
wife.  It  is  an  unpolished  way  of  proceeding,  which  a 
modest  man  ought  to  be  ashamed  of.  I  have  left  you  a 
prey  to  your  own  imaginations  amongst  my  relations,  the 
worst  of  damnations.  But  there  will  come  an  hour  of 
deUverance,  till  when,  may  my  mother  be  merciful  unto 
you.    The  small  share  I  could  spare  you  out  of  my  pocket 


204 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


205 


l| 


I  liave  sent  as  a  debt  to  Mrs.  Rouse :  within  a  week  or 
ten  days  I  return  you  more. 

"  Pray  write  as  often  as  you  have  leisure  to  your 

'^  Rochester." 

In  the  next  specimen  a  little  soreness  is  evident : — 

"My  Wife, 

"  The  difficulties  of  pleasing  your  Ladyship  do 
increase  so  fast  upon  me,  and  are  grown  so  numerous, 
that,  to  a  man  less  resolved  than  myself  never  to  give  it 
over,  it  would  appear  a  madness  ever  to  attempt  it  more. 
But  through  your  frailties  mine  ought  not  to  multiply. 
You  may  therefore  secure  yourself  that  it  will  not  be  easy 
for  you  to  put  me  out  of  my  constant  resolutions  to  satisfy 
you  in  all  I  can.  I  confess  there  is  nothing  will  so  much 
contribute  to  my  assistance  in  this  as  your  dealing  freely 
with  me;  for  since  you  have  thought  it  a  wise  thing  to 
trust  me  less  and  have  reserves,  it  has  been  out  of  my 
power  to  make  the  best  of  my  proceedings  effectual  to 
what  I  intended  them.  At  a  distance,  I  am  likeliest  to 
learn  your  mind,  for  you  have  not  a  very  obliging  way  of 
delivering  it  by  word  of  mouth  ;  if,  therefore,  you  will  let 
me  know  the  particulars  in  which  I  may  be  useful  to  you, 
I  will  show  my  readiness  as  to  my  own  part ;  and  if  I  fail 
of  the  success  I  wish,  it  shall  not  be  the  fault  of  your 

humble  servant, 

"  Rochester.'' 

His  letters  to  his  son  are  not  less  admirable  : — 

"  I  hope,  Charles,  when  you  receive  this,  and  know  that 
I  have  sent  this  gentleman  to  be  your  tutor,  you  will  be 
very  glad  to  see  I  take  such  care  of  you,  and  be  very  grate- 
ful, which  is  best  shown  in  being  obedient  and  diligent. 


You  are  now  grown  big  enough  to  be  a  man,  if  you  can  be 
wise  enough ;  for  the  way  to  be  truly  wise  is  to  serve  God, 
learn  your  book,  and  observe  the  instructions  of  your 
parents  first,  and  next  your  tutor,  to  whom  I  have  entirely 
resigned  you  for  this  seven  years,  and  according  as  you 
employ  that  time,  you  are  to  be  happy  or  unhappy  for 
ever ;  but  I  have  so  good  an  opinion  of  you,  that  I  am 
glad  to  think  you  will  never  deceive  me  ;  dear  child,  learn 
your  book  and  be  obedient,  and  you  shall  see  what  a 
father  I  will  be  to  you.  You  shall  want  no  pleasure 
while  you  are  good,  and  that  you  may  be  so  are  my 
constant  prayers. 

"  Rochester." 

"Charles,  I  take  it  very  kindly  that  you  write  me, 
though  seldom,  and  wish  heartily  you  would  behave 
yourself  so  as  that  I  might  sliow  how  much  I  love  you 
without  being  ashamed.  Obedience  to  your  grand- 
mother, and  those  who  instruct  you  in  good  things,  is 
the  way  to  make  you  happy  here  and  for  ever.  Avoid 
idleness,  scorn  lying,  and  God  will  bless  you. 

"  Rochester." 

Such  was  this  brilliant  man  of  fashion,  in  his  happier 
and  worthier  moods,  and  under  the  purifying  influence  of 
the  sweet  Home  affections."^ 


*  Dr.  Johnson,  "Lives  of  the  Poets,"  suh  voce;  "Poems  by  Earl  of 
Rochester,"  ed.  1691 ;  "  Some  Passages  in  the  Life  and  Death  of  John,  Eurl 
of  Rochester,"  by  Gilbert  Burnet,  Bishop  of  Salisbury  (IG80^  •  Peovs^ 
"  Diary  ;  "  Evelyn,  «  Diary  ;  "  etc,  etc.  ^' 


206 


THE    MERKY   MONAECH  J 


George  Yilliers,  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

The  pseudo-romance  attacWng  to  tlie   career  of  this 
splendid  but  wayward  noble  has  given  him  a  remarkable 
place  in  our  literature.     It  has  been  his  strange  fortune 
to  have    had  his   memory   preserved  by   the   genius  of 
Dryden,  Pope,  and  Scott.     It  cannot  be  said  that  the 
portraits   they   have    drawn    present    him    in    flattering 
colours,  but  they  have  seized  the  popular  imagination,  so 
that  it  may   well  be  doubted   whether  George  Villiers, 
Duke  of  Buckingham,  is  not  the  best  known  of  all  the 
figures    that  played  their  parts  in  the   tragi-comedy   of 
Charles  the  Second's  reign.     Before  we  attempt  a  sketch 
of  his  life  we  shall  bring  together  these  skilfully  elabo- 
rated "  characters  "  of  the  brilliant  Duke,  together  with 
some  other  notices,  showing  the  light  in  which  historians 
have  agreed  to  regard  him. 

Everybody  knows  that  he  is  the  Zimri  of  Dryden's 
"Absalom  and  Achitophel,"  and  in  that  fine  satire  no 
other  portrait  is  drawn  with  more  care  or  point.  It  has 
all  the  terseness  of  an  epigram;  its  compact  and  vigorous 
couplets  make  themselves  remembered;  and  their  irre- 
sistible force  leaves  us  no  time  to  doubt  their  truth : — 

"Some  of  tlieir  cliiefs  were  princes  of  the  land; 
In  the  first  rank  of  tliese  did  Zimri  stand  : 
A  man  so  various,  that  he  seemed  to  be 
Not  one,  bnt  all  mankind's  epitome: 
Stiff  in  opinions,  always  in  the  wrong  ; 
Was  everything  by  starts,  and  nothing  long; 
But,  in  the  course  of  one  revolving  moon, 
Was  chymist,  fiddler,  statesman,  and  buffoon : 
Then  all  for  women,  painting,  rhyming,  drinking, 
Besides  ten  thousand  freaks  that  died  in  thinking. 
Blest  madman,  who  could  every  hour  employ 
With  something  new  to  wish  or  to  enjoy  ! 
lluiling  anil  })raising  wt-rr  his  usual  themes; 
And  both,  to  show  his  Judgment,  in  extremes: 


BBiffliaiBiai^iiiiii 


OR,  ENGLA:ND  under  CHARLES  II. 


o 


07 


So  over-violent,  or  over-civil, 

That  every  man  with  him  was  God  or  Devil. 

In  squandering  wealth  was  his  peculiar  art: 

Nothing  went  unrewarded  but  desert. 

Beggared  by  fools,  whom  still  he  found  too  late; 

He  had  his  jest,  and  they  had  his  estate. 

He  laughed  himself  from  court ;  then  sought  relief 

By  forming  parties,  but  could  ne'er  be  brief: 

For,  spite  of  him,  the  weight  of  business  fell 

On  Absalom  and  wise  Achitophel :  * 

Thus,  wicked  but  in  will,  of  means  bereft. 

He  left  not  faction,  but  of  that  was  left." 

Not  less  finished  is  Pope's  antithetical  description  of 
the  mean  and  obscure  death  of  the  once  brilliant  Duke  :— 

"  In  the  worst  inn's  worst  room,  with  mat  half-hung, 
The  floors  of  plaster,  and  the  walls  of  dung, 
On  once  a  flock-bed,  but  repaired  with  i^traw, 
With  tape-tied  curtains,  never  meant  to  draw. 
The  George  and  Garter  dangling  from  that  bed 
Where  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red. 
Great  Villiers  lies— ahis  I  how  changed  from  him, 
That  life  of  pleasure  and  that  soul  of  whim ! 
Gallant  and  gay,  in  Cliveden's  proud  alcove, 
The  bower  of  wanton  Shrewsbury  and  love  ; 
Or  just  as  gay  at  council,  in  a  ring 
Of  mimic  statesmen  and  their  merry  King. 
No  wit  to  flatter,  left  of  all  his  store  ! 
No  fool  to  laugh  at,  which  he  valued  more- 
There,  victor  of  his  health,  of  fortune,  friends, 
And  fame,  this  lord  of  useless  thousands  ends  I " 

Says  Horace  Walpole,  speaking  of  the  Duke:—''  His 
portrait  has  been  drawn  by  four  masterly  hands :  Burnet 
has  hewn  it  out  with  his  rouj^^h  chisel— Count  Hamilton 
touched  it  with  that  slight  delicacy  that  finishes  while  it 
seems  but  to  sketch— Dryden  catched  the  living  likeness 
—Pope  completed  the  historical  resemblance."  He  has  also 
attempted  it  himself :—"  When  this  extraordinary  man," 
he  says,  "  with  the  figure  and  genius  of  Alcibiades,  could 

*«  Absalom:"    the  Duke  of  Monmouth.     "Achitophel:"    the  Earl  nf 
Shaftesbury. 


208 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


equally  charm  the  presbyteriaii  Fairfax  and  the  dissolute 
Charles ;  when  he  alike  ridiculed  that  witty  King  and 
his  solemn  Chancellor;  when  he  plotted  the  ruin  of  hi& 
country  with  a  cabal  of  bad  ministers,  or,  equally  un- 
principled, supported  its  cause  with  bad  patriots,  one 
laments  that  such  parts  should  have  been  devoid  of  any 
virtue.  But  when  Alcibiades  turns  chemist ;  when  he  is  a 
real  bubble  and  a  visionary  miser  ;  when  ambition  is  but  a 
frolic ;  when  the  worst  designs  are  for  the  foolishest  ends^ 
contempt  extinguislies  all  reflections  on  his  character." 

Bishop  Burnet  describes  him  as  "  a  man  of  noble 
presence.  He  had  a  great  liveliness  of  wit,  and  a  peculiar 
faculty  of  turning  all  things  into  ridicule,  with  bold 
figures,  and  natural  descriptions.  He  had  no  sort  of 
literature,  only  he  was  drawn  into  chemistry;  and  for  some 
years  he  thouglit  he  was  very  near  the  finding  of  the 
philosopher's  stone,  which  had  the  effect  that  attends 
on  all  such  men  as  he  was,  when  they  are  drawn  in 
to  lay  out  for  it.  He  had  no  principles  of  religion,  virtue, 
or  friendship;  pleasure,  frolic,  or  extravagant  diversion 
was  all  that  he  laid  to  heart.  He  was  true  to  nothing ; 
for  he  was  not  true  to  himself.  He  had  no  steadiness  nor 
conduct;  he  could  keep  no  secret,  nor  execute  any  design 
without  spoiling  it.  He  could  never  fix  his  thoughts,  nor 
govern  his  estate,  though  then  the  greatest  in  England. 
He  was  bred  about  the  King,  and  for  many  years  he  had  a 
great  ascendant  over  him  ;  but  he  spake  of  him  to  all 
persons  with  that  contempt,  that  at  last  he  drew  a  last- 
ing disgrace  upon  himself.  And  he  at  length  ruined  both 
body  and  mind,  fortune  and  reputation  equally.  The 
madness  of  vice  appeared  in  his  person  in  very  eminent 
instances ;  since  at  last  be  became  contemptible  and  poor. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  IT. 


209 


sicklj-,  and  sunk  in  his  parts,  as  well  as  in  all  other 
respects ;  so  that  his  conversation  was  as  much  avoided  as 
ever  it  had  been  courted.'^ 

In  still  blacker  colours  the  unfortunate  Duke  is  painted 
by  Butler,  the  author  of  "  Hudibras,"  who  thus  revenged 
himself  upon  a  man  he  hated:—"  The  Duke  of  Bucks  '' 
he  says,  ''  is  one  that  has  studied  the  whole  body  of  vice. 
His  parts  are  disproportionate  to  the  whole ;  and,  like  a 
monster,  he  has  more  of  some,  and  less  of  others,  than  he 
should  have.     He  has  pulled  down  all  that  nature  raised 
in  him,  and  built  himself  up  again  after  a  model  of  his 
own.  He  has  dammed  up  all  those  lights  that  nature  made 
into  the  noblest  prospects  of  the  world,  and  opened  other 
little   blind  loop-holes  backward,   by  turning   day  into 
night,  and  night  into  day.      His  appetite  to  his  pleasures 
is  diseased  and  crazy,  like  the  pica  in  a  woman,  that  longs 
to  eat  that  which  was  never  made  for  food,  or  a  girl  in  the 
green  sickness,  that  eats  chalk  and  mortar.     Perpetual 
surfeits  of  pleasure  have  filled  his  mind   with  bad  and 
vicious  humours  (as  well  as  his  body  with  a  nursery  of 
diseases),  which  makes  him  affect  new  and  extravagant 
ways,  as  being  sick  and  tired  with  the  old.     Continual 
wine,  women,  and  music  put  false  values  upon  thino-s 
which,   by  custom^    become   habitual,   and  debauch  his 
understanding  so,  that  he  retains  no  right   notion   nor 
sense  of  things.     And   as   the   same   dose   of  the   same 
physic   has  no   operation  on  those  that   are  much  used 
to  it;    so    his   pleasures  require   a  larger  proportion   of 
excess  and  variety,  to  render  him  sensible  of  them.      Be 
rises,  eats,  and  goes  to  bed  by  the  Julian  account,  lon^^- 
after  all  others  that  go  by  the  new  style,  and  keeps  the 
same  hours  with  owls  and  the  antipodes.      He  is  a  great 

VOL.    II.  p 


210 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


observer  of  tlie  Tartar  customs,  and  never  eats  till  the 
Great  Cliam,  having  dined,  makes  proclamation  that  all 
the  world  may  go  to  dinner.  He  does  not  dwell  in  his 
house,  but  haunts  it  like  an  evil  spirit,  that  walks  all 
night,  to  disturb  the  family,  and  never  appears  by  day. 
He  lives  perpetually  benighted,  runs  out  of  his  life,  and 
loses  his  time  as  men  do  their  ways  in  the  dark:  and 
as  blind  men  are  led  by  their  dogs,  so  is  he  goverened  by 
some  mean  servant  or  other,  that  relates  to  his  pleasures. 
He  is  as  inconstant  as  the  moon  which  he  lives  under  ; 
and  although  he  does  nothing  but  advise  with  his  piUers 
all  day,  he  is  as  great  a  stranger  to  himself  as  he  is  to  the 
rest  of  the  world.  His  mind  entertains  all  things  very 
freely  that  come  and  go,  but,  like  guests  and  strangers, 
they  are  not  welcome  if  they  stay  long.  This  lays  him 
open  to  all  cheats,  quacks,  and  impostors,  who  apply 
to  every  particular  humour  while  it  lasts,  and  afterwards 
vanish.  Thus,  with  St.  Paul,  though  in  a  different  sense, 
he  dies  daily,  and  only  lives  in  the  night.  He  deforms 
nature,  while  he  intends  to  adorn  her,  like  Indians  that 
hang  jewels  in  their  lips  and  noses.  His  ears  are  per- 
petually drilled  with  a  fiddlestick.  He  endures  pleasures 
with  less  patience  than  other  men  do  their  pains."  "^ 

In  his  "  Memoirs  of  Count  Grammont,"  Count  Hamil- 
ton, whose  touch  is  exact  and  incisive,  light  as  it  ap- 
pears, in  his  scandalous  chronicle  of  Frances  Stewart, 
says : — "  The  Duke  of  Buckingham  formed  the  design  of 
governing  her  in  order  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the 
King;  God  knows  what  a  governor  he  would  have  been, 
and  what  a  head  he  was  possessed  of,  to  guide  another ; 
however,   he   was   the  properest   man   in   the   world  to 

*  Butler,  "  Posthumous  Works,"  ii.,  72, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


211 


insinuate  himself  with  Miss  Stewart,"  who  was  very 
childish  in  her  behaviour  and  amusements,  and  delighted 
in  building  houses  of  cards,  "  as  playful  children  do." 
She  had,  however,  a  passion  for  music,  and  had  some 
taste  for  singing.  Now,  according  to  Hamilton,  the  Duke 
''  who  built  the  finest  towers  of  cards  imaginable,  had  an 
agreeable  voice :  she  had  no  aversion  to  scandal ;  and  the 
Duke  was  both  the  father  and  the  mother  of  scandal;  he 
made  songs,  and  invented  old  women's  stories  with  which 
she  was  delighted;  but  his  particular  talent  consisted 
in  turning  into  ridicule  whatever  was  ridiculous  in  other 
people,  and  in  taking  them  off,  even  in  their  presence, 
without  their  perceiving  it.  In  short,  he  could  act  all 
parts  with  so  much  grace  and  pleasantry,  that  it  was 
difiicult  to  do  without  him,  when  he  had  a  mind  to  make 
himself  agreeable.  .  .  He  was  extremely  handsome,  and 
still  thought  himself  much  more  so  than  he  really  was. 
Although  he  had  a  great  deal  of  discernment,  yet  his 
vanity  made  him  mistake  some  civilities  as  intended  for 
his  i)ei'son,  which  were  bestowed  only  on  his  wit  and 
drollery.  ^^ 

The  master-hand  of  Scott  has  portrayed  the  splendidly 
wayward  Duke  with  wonderful  power  and  fidelity  in  his 
romance  of  '^  Peveril  of  the  Peak."  The  reader  will 
remember  the  scene  in  which  the  pretended  Mauritanian 
sorceress  addresses  the  Duke  with  so  much  boldness. 
"  What  are  you  ?  "  she  says.  "  Nay,  frown  not ;  for  you 
must  hear  the  truth  for  once.  Nature  has  done  its  part, 
and  made  a  fair  outside,  and  courtly  education  hath 
added  its  share.  You  are  noble,  it  is  the  accident  of 
birth — handsome,  it  is  the  caprice  of  nature — generous, 
because   to  give  is   more  easy  than  to  refuse— well-ap- 


212 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


parelled,  it  is  to  the  credit  of  your  tailor — well-natured 
in  the  main,  because  you  have  youth  and  health — brave, 
because  to  be  otherwise  were  to  be  degraded — and  witty, 
because  you  cannot  help  it.  ...  I  have  neither  allowed 
you  a  heart  nor  a  head.  .  .  .  Nay,  never  redden  as  you 
would  fly  at  me.  I  say  not  but  nature  may  have  given 
you  both ;  but  folly  has  confounded  the  one,  and  selfish- 
ness perverted  the  other." 

With  these  estimates  before  us  of  his  complex  character, 
we  proceed  to  sVetch  the  career  of  George  Villiers,  Duke 
of  Buckingham. 

George  Villiers,  son  of  the  first  Duke  of  Buckingham 
of  that  family,  was  born  at  Wallingford  House,  St. 
James's  Park,  on  the  30th  of  January,  1627.  His  mother 
was  Lady  Catherine  Manners,  and  the  daughter  and 
heiress  of  the  wealthy  Earl  of  Eutland.  Thus,  while  to 
his  father  he  owed  the  proudest  title  of  any  subject  in 
England,  he  was  indebted  to  his  mother  for  the  greatest 
estate.  He  was  only  a  year  and  a  half  old  when  his  father 
fell  beneath  the  knife  of  Felton,  and  public  wrongs  were 
avenged  by  individual  enmity.  His  younger  brother. 
Lord  Francis  Yilliers,  was  a  posthumous  child.  The  two 
brothers  were  educated  with  the  children  of  Charles  I., 
and  at  an  early  age  entered  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
But  the  outbreak  of  tlie  Civil  War  kindled  their  loyal  and 
chivalrous  sympathies;  and,  suddenly  abandoning  their 
studies,  they  left  the  University  and  repaired  to  the  royal 
camp,  just  before  the  attack  upon  Lichfield.  For  this 
imprudent  exhibition  of  fidelity  they  were  punished  by  the 
confiscation  of  their  estates ;  which,  however,  the  Parlia- 
ment very  soon  returned  them  in  generous  recognition 
of  the  fact  that  they  were  young  and  inexperienced.    They 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


213 


were  then  sent  to  travel  abroad,  under  the  care  of  their 
tutor,  a  Mr.  Aylesbury,  and  the  young  Duke  dazzled  the 
nobles  of  France  and  Italy  by  the  splendid  state  which  he 
maintained.  Their  chief  stay  was  made  at  Florence  and 
at  Rome,  where  the  Duke  studied  mathematics  under 
Abraham  Woodhead,  the  Roman  Catholic  controver- 
sialist. When,  at  a  later  period,  Woodhead  was  ejected 
from  his  fellowship  in  University  College,  Oxford,  by  the 
influence  of  the  dominant  faction,  his  former  pupil 
generously  lodged  him  at  York  House. 

The  two  brothers  returned  to  England  in  1648,  when 
the  Civil  War  was  in  its  last  throes.  Though  the  King's 
cause  was  hopeless,  they  gallantly  joined  the  small  force 
assembled  by  Lord  Holland,  who  appointed  the  Duke  his 
master  of  the  horse.  Closely  pressed  by  the  Common- 
wealth soldiers,  under  Colonel  Rich,  the  little  band  of 
cavaliers  fell  back  towards  Kingston  in  Surrey;  but  at 
Nonsuch,  near  Ewell,  were  overtaken  and  defeated  (July 
7th).  This  was  the  last  stroke  struck  on  behalf  of 
Charles  L  Lord  Holland  was  taken  prisoner;  Lord 
Francis  Villiers  slain,  while,  with  his  back  to  a  tree,  and 
refusing  quarter,  he  fought  against  overwhelming  num- 
bers. On  this  elm  (says  Aubrey),  which  was  cut  down  in 
1680,  was  carved  an  ill-shaped  V  for  Villiers,  in  memory 
of  the  brave  young  noble.* 

*  Two  difEerent  versions  of  the  circumstances  of  his  death,  are  on  record. 
Brian  Fairfax,  in  his  "  Memoirs  of  the  Duke  of  Bnckingham"  (p.  17), 
gays : — "  My  Lord  Francis,  at  the  head  of  his  troop,  having  his  horse  slain 
under  him,  got  to  an  oak  tree  in  the  hij^^hway  about  two  miles  from 
Kingston,  where  he  stood  with  his  back  against  it,  defending  himself,  scorn- 
ing to  ask  quarter,  and  they  barbarously  refusing  to  give  it ;  till  with  nine 
wounds  in  his  beautiful  face  and  body,  he  was  slain.  The  oak  tree  is  his 
monument,  and  has  the  two  first  letters  of  his  name,  F.  V.,  cut  in  it  to 
this  day."  On  the  other  hand,  Ludlow,  in  his  "  Memoirs  "  (i.  256),  tells 
-a  more  scandalous  story  : — *'  The  Lord  Francis,  presuming  perhaps  that  his 
beauty  would  have  charmed  the  soldiers,  as  it  had  done  Mrs.  Kirke,  for 
whom  he  had  made  a  splendid  entertainment  the  night  before  he  left  the 


214 


THE    MEREY   MONARCH; 


Meanwliile,  the  Duke  made  his  way  towards  St.  Neot's, 
attended  b}'  Tobias  Eustat  ;*  but  the  house  in  which  he 
took  refuge  was  presently  surrounded  by  the  enemy,  and 
perceiving  that  only  in  a  desperate  measure  lay  any  means- 
of  safety,  he  dashed  through  the  leaguer,  sword  in  hand, 
and  effected  his  escape.  By  way  of  London  he  gained  the 
sea  coast,  and  embarking  in  a  fishing-boat,  joined  Prince 
Charles,  who,  with  a  small  squadron,  was  cruising  in  the 
Downs.  The  Parliament  called  upon  him  to  surrender 
within  forty  days  ;  but  he  gallantly  adhered  to  the  royal 
cause,  and  was  accordingly  deprived  of  his  vast  estates. 
This,  we  must  own,  was  a  trial  of  loyalty  which  few 
young  men  of  twenty  would  have  been  able  to  withstand, 
aaid  that  there  was  something  noble  in  the  Duke's  nature 
we  may  fairly  argue  from  his  loyalty  under  such  harsh 
conditions. 

Something  was  saved  for  the  youn  g  Duke  out  of  the 
wreck  of  his  fortunes.  An  old  servant,  one  John  Trailman, 
who  had  been  allowed  to  remain  at  York  House,  sue  ceeded, 
by  the  exercise  of  great  pains  and  ingenuity,  in  forwarding 
to  him  at  Antwerp  the  valuable  collection  of  pictures 
formed  by  the  first  Duke  during  his  travels  in  Italy.  By 
the  sale  of  these  pictures  Buckingham  supported  himself 
while  in  exile. 

When  the  Scots  invited  Charles  II.  to  take  possession 
of  his  Northern  Kingdom,  Buckingham  was  the  only 
Englishman  of  quality  they  permitted  to  accompany  him; 
and  many  lively  stories  are  told  of  the  ridicule  which,  in 

town,  and  made  her  a  present  of  plate  to  the  value  of  a  thousand  pounds, 
stayed  behind  his  company,  when  nnseason.ibly  daring  the  troopers,  and 
refusing  to  take  quarter,  he  was  killed,  and  after  his  death  there  was  found 
upon  him  some  of  the  hair  of  Mrs.  Kirke  sewed  iu  a  piece  of  ribbon  that 
hung  next  his  skin." 

*  Afterwards  groom  of  the  bedchamber  to  Charles  II. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


215 


private,  he  and  the  young  monarch  lavished  on  the  sour 
faces,  canting  language,  and  rigid  tenets  of  the  Covenan- 
ters.   At  Worcester  Field  he  fought  bravely  by  the  King's 
side   (September  3,  1656)  ;  and  after  the  battle  was  lost, 
accompanied  him  in  his  flight  as  far  as  Boscobel  House. 
There  he  parted  from  him ;   and,  with  Lords  Derby  and 
Lauderdale,  went  northward,  in  the  hope  of  overtaking 
General  Lesley,  with  the  main  body  of  the  Scottish  horse. 
After   dispersing   a   small   body   of   the   Commonwealth 
troops  under  Colonel  Blundel,  they  were  encountered,  near 
Newport,  by  Colonel  Lilburn's  regiment,  and  the  two  Earls 
were   taken   prisoners.       Buckingham,  and  half-a-dozen 
other  Cavaliers,  abandoning  their  horses,  crept  along  the 
lanes  and  fields  to  a  wood  at  Blowe  Park,  where  the  Duke, 
having  placed  his  George  (given  him  by  Queen  Henrietta 
Maria)  in  safe  custody,  exchanged  clothes  with  a  labourer, 
and  was  conveyed  by  Nicholas  Matthews,  a  carpenter,  to 
Bilstrop,  in  Nottinghamshire.     There  he  was  hospitably 
entertained  by  a   "  hearty  cavalier  "  named  Hawley,  and 
after  rest  and  refreshment,  proceeded  to  his  kinswoman. 
Lady  Villiers,  at  Brooksby,  in  Lincolnshire.    Finally,  after 
enduring  many  hardships,  he  reached  London  in  safety. 

The  strain  of  waywardness  in  his  nature  which  did  so 
much  to  neutralise  the  value  of  his  gifts  of  mind  and 
person  here  first  showed  itself.  It  might  have  been 
thought  that,  at  the  very  head-quarters  of  his  ene- 
mies, he  would  have  lived  in  privacy  and  chosen  some 
obscure  retreat;  but,  if  a  gossiping  chronicler  of  the 
times  may  be  credited,  he  attired  himself  as  a  mounte- 
bank, and  played  his  antics  in  the  most  public  places. 
« He  caused  himself  to  be  made  a  Jack  Pudding's  coat, 
a  little  hat  with  a  fox's  tail  in  it,  and  adorned  with  cock's 


216 


THE  MEERY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


217 


ii 


feathers.  Sometimes  he  appeared  in  a  wizard's  mask; 
sometimes  he  had  his  face  bedaubed  with  flour,  sometimes 
with  lamp-black,  as  the  flincy  took  him.  He  had  a  stage 
erected  at  Charing  Cross,  where  he  was  attended  by 
violins  and  puppet-players.  Every  day  he  produced 
ballads  of  his  own  composition  upon  what  passed  in  town, 
wherein  he  himself  often  had  a  share.  These  he  sung 
before  several  thousands  of  spectators,  who  every  day 
came  to  see  and  hear  him.  He  also  sold  mithridate  and 
Ms  galbanura  plaister  in  this  great  city,  in  the  midst  of 
his  enemies,  whilst  we  were  obliged  to  fly,  and  to  conceal 
ourselves  in  some  hole  or  other."  It  is  impossible  that 
Buckingham's  proceedings  can  have  been  unknown  to  the 
authorities;  but  the  Commonwealth  Government  were 
probably  content  to  ignore  the  freaks  of  a  young  man  of 
twenty-three,  so  long  as  he  abstained  from  political  in- 
trigues. 

Growing  weary  of  this  amusement,  Buckingham  suddenly 
left  London,  and  hastened  to  cross  over  to  France.  Incap- 
able of  rest  or  repose,  he  joined  the  French  army  as  a 
volunteer,  and  won  distinction  by  his  gallantry  at  the 
sieges  of  Arras  and  Valenciennes. 

About  this  time  Parliament  conferred  on  Sir  Thomas 
Fairfax  a  large  portion  of  the  Buckingham  estates,  some 
of  which,  however,  the  Puritan  general  had  the  grace  to 
restore  to  the  Duchess.  Then  to  the  excitable  imao-ina- 
tion  of  the  young  Duke  occurred  an  idea  worthy  of  a 
Don  Quixote  or  any  of  the  heroes  of  the  old  chivalry.  He 
proposed  to  himself  to  recover  his  patrimonial  inheritance 
by  the  simple  process  of  wedding  Mary  Fairfax,  the 
General's  only  daughter  and  heiress.  To  be  sure,  as  a 
preliminary  it  was  needful  to  see  and  be  seen ;  which  was 


no  easy  matter  in  the  case  of  an  exile.     And  further,  if 
the  youny  lady's  consent  were  obtained,  the  sanction  of 
the  father  was  indispensable,  and  that  this  would  be  forth- 
coming was  by  no  means  a  certain  result.    But  to  triumph 
over  difiiculties  was  Buckingham's  great  delight,  and  at 
length,  in  the  summer  of  1657,  he  boldly  crossed  over  to 
England,  and  appeared  before  Fairfax  as  a  suitor  for  his 
daughter's  hand.   The  young  lady  was  charmed,  no  doubt, 
by  the  romance  of  the  adventure,  and  speedily  won  by  the 
graceful  manners  and  lively  conversation  of  her  handsome 
gallant.     Nor  was  her  father  averse  to  the  match.     He 
was  somewhat  troubled  in  conscience  by  the  possession  of 
the  confiscated  estates,  which  would  thus  return  to  their 
legitimate  owner  in  a  natural  and  facile  manner ;  and  as  he 
was  himself  of  aristocratic  descent,  he  was  by  no  means 
unwilling  that  his  daughter  should  occupy  the  highest 
position  in  the  English  nobility.  The  marriage  accordingly 
took  place  on  the   7th  of  September,  1657,  at  Fairfax's 
seat  of  New  Appleton,  near  York.     Cromwell,  when  he 
heard  of  it,  committed  Buckingham  to  the  Tower,  and  re- 
fused his  release  when  petitioned  for  it  by  Fairfax.     The 
following  is  the  purport  of  the   reply  to  the  General's 
memorial: — 

"  At  the  Cofncil  at  Whitehall. 

"  Tuesday,  17th  November,  1657. 
"  His  Highness  having  communicated  to  the  Council 
that  the  Lord  Fairfax  made  address  to  him,  with  some 
desires  on  behalf  of  the  Duke  of  Buckingham :  Ordered, 
that  the  resolves  and  Act  of  Parliament,  in  the  case  of  the 
said  Duke,  be  communicated  to  the  Lord  Fairfax,  as  the 
grounds  of  the  Council's  proceedings  touching  the  said 


218 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


219 


Duke  ;  and  that  there  be  withal  signified  to  the  Lord  Fair- 
fax, the  CounciFs  civil  respects  to  his  lordship's  own 
person.  That  the  Earl  of  Miilgrave,  the  Lord  Deputy 
Fleetwood,  and  the  Lord  Strickland,  be  desired  to  deliver 
a  messacre  from  the  Council  to  the  Lord  Fau-fax,  to  the 
effect  aforesaid. 

"  Henry  Scobell,  Clerk  of  the  Council." 
On  the  accession  of  Richard  Cromwell,  in  1658,  the 
Duke  was  removed  to  Windsor  Castle,  and  allowed  to 
enjoy  the  company  of  the  poet  Cowley,  whose  acquaintance 
he  had  made  while  a  student  at  Cambridge.  Early  in  the 
following  year  he  obtained  his  release,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  his  powerful  friends.  In  the  Merciirius  Politicus 
for  February  21st,  1658-9,  is  the  following  entry  :— 

"The  humble  petition  of  George  Duke  of  Buckingham 
was   this   day   read.      Eesolved,   That   George   Duke   of 
Buckingham,  now  prisoner  at  Windsor  Castle,  upon  his 
engagement  upon  his  honour  at  the  bar  of  this  House,  and 
upon  the  engagement  of  Lord  Fairfax,  in  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  that  the  said  Duke  shall  peaceably  demean  him- 
self for  the  future,  and  shall  not  join   with,   or  abet,  or 
have  any  correspondence  with,  any  of  the  enemies  of  the 
Lord  Protector,  and  of  this  Commonwealth,  in  any  of  the 
parts  beyond  the  sea,  or  within  this  Commonwealth,  shall 
be  discharged  of  his  imprisonment  and  restraint ;  and  that 
the  Governor  of  Windsor  Castle  be  required  to  bring  the 
said  Duke  of  Buckingham  to  the  bar  of  this  House  on 
Wednesday    next,    to   engage    his   honour   accordingly. 
Ordered,  that  the  security  of  twenty  thousand  pounds  to 
be  given  by  the  Lord  Fairfax,  on  the  behalf  of  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham,  be  taken  in  the  name  of  his  Highness  the 
Lord  Protector." 


After  his  release  the  young  Duke  retired  to  his  father- 
in-law^s  seat  at  New  Appleton,  where,  with  his  wonderful 
faculty  for  adapting  himself  to  the  most  novel  conditions, 
he  lived  the  quiet  and  orderly  life  of  a  country  squire  of 
the  old  school,  and  gained  the  esteem  of  Fairfax  by  his 
Puritanical  professions.  This  was  a  happy  time  for  the 
Duchess,  who  was  afterwards  to  suffer  so  much  from  his 
gross  infidelities.  It  was  her  misfortune  that  nature  had  not 
fitted  her  to  retain  the  affections  of  her  volatile  husband. 
Her  person  was  far  from  prepossessing — she  is  spoken  of 
as  "  lean,  brown,  and  little  " — while  she  had  neither  the 
fascination  of  manner  nor  the  vivacity  of  conversation  in 
which  the  absence  of  physical  attractions  is  forgotten. 
All  that  can  be  said  of  her — and  it  is  no  mean  praise — is 
that  she  was  pure  and  amiable ;  but  purity  and  amiability 
were  not  the  womanly  qualities  most  admired  by  George, 
Duke  of  Buckingham. 

At  the  Restoration  Buckingham  recovered  his  estates, 
and  was  appointed  a  member  of  the  Privy  Council,  as  well 
as  Master  of  the  Horse,  a  Lord  of  the  Bedchamber,  and 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  Yorkshire.  At  once  he  plunged  into 
the  career  of  profligacy  and  pleasure  by  which  his  name  is 
best  remembered.  For  shining  in  a  Court  like  Charles  II's., 
he  possessed  every  qualification.  High  birth,  rank,  and 
abundant  wealth ;  a  handsome  countenance  and  well-knit 
figure ;  while  the  charm  of  his  address  was  irresistible,  and 
no  one  excelled  him  in  pointing  an  epigram  or  turning  a 
compliment.  He  moved  with  an  easy  elegance,  which  drew 
all  eyes  upon  him  as  he  sauntered  into  the  presence  chamber 
or  aired  his  graces  in  the  Mall.  "  No  man,"  says  Madame 
Dunois,  "  was  ever  handsomer,  or  more  nicely  made ;  and 
there  was  such  an  attraction  in  his  conversation  that  he 


•I 


220 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


pleased  more  by  liis  wit  than  even  by  bis  person.  His 
words  subdued  every  heart ;  he  seemed  borne  for  gallantry 
and  magnificence,  and  in  both  respects  surpassed  all  the 
lords  of  the  English  Court." 

Buckingham's  pursuits  were  as  various  as  his  talents. 
He  dabbled  in  aleliemy,  and  amused  himself  with  the  vain 
dream  of  discovering  the  philosopher's  stone;  he  scribbled 
with  careless  fluency  lampoons  and  love-songs  ;  he  lavished 
large  sums  of  money  in  building— an  amusement  as  fas- 
cinating and  as  dangerous  as  gambling,  in  which  he  also 
indulged;  he  patronised  poets   and  made  love  to  frail 
beauties  ;  he  led  the  fashion  in  gay  and  gorgeous  cos- 
tumes ;  and  at  Court  he  was  foremost  in  every  intrigue  and 
the  moving  spirit  in  every  startling  exploit.     In  this  way 
he  contrived  to  get  rid  of  his  vast  income,  until  to  meet 
his  expenditure  he  was  compelled  to  mortgage  his  estates, 
and  borrow  money  at  usurious  rates  from  the  Jews.     Of 
the  buffoonery  with  which  he  at  times  condescended  to 
divert    the    king    an    instance    will     suflace.      On    one 
occasion  he  entered  the  royal  presence  attired  as  the  Lord 
Chancellor— whom  he  hated— mimicking  his  stately  gait 
and  his  habit  of  puffing  out  his  cheeks ;  a  pair  of  bellows 
hanging  before  him  for  the  purse,  while  Colonel  Titus,  as 
mace-bearer,   preceded    him    with   a   fire-shovel  on    bis 
shoulders.     The  imitation  was  so  perfect  that  the  specta- 
tors were  convulsed  with  laughter. 

It  would  not  be  interesting,  and  assuredly  it  would  be 
far  from  profitable,  to  dwell  upon  the  amours  of  this 
volatile  man  of  pleasure.  He  was  by  no  means  the  most 
profligate  of  Charles's  profligate  Court,  but  one  of  his  en- 
gagements was  attended  with  consequences  which  has 
given  it  a  sinister  imp  ortance.  Among  the  beautiful  women 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


221 


of  the  time  a  foremost  place  was  held  by  Anna  Maria, 
Countess  of  Shrewsbury,  whose  name  had  already  figured 
in  many  a  chronique  scandaleuse  before  she  became  the 
mistress  of  Buckingham.  As  both  parties  were  notorious 
for  their  fickleness,  it  was  generally  believed  that  the 
intrigue  would  be  of  brief  duration  ;  nevertheless  it  lasted 
for  years,  and  it  may  be  doubted  whether  the  frail  Coun- 
tess was  not  the  only  woman  for  whom  Buckingham 
felt  a  real  attachment. 

"  The  Duke  of  Buckingham  and  Lady  Shrewsbury," 
says  Hamilton,  "  remained  for  a  long  period  both  happy 
and  contented  :  never  before  had  her  constancy  been  of  so 
long  a  duration ;  nor  had  he  ever  been  so  submissive  and 
respectful  a  lover.  This  continued  until  Lord  Shrewsbury, 
who  never  before  had  shown  the  least  uneasiness  at  his 
lady's  misconduct,  now  chose  to  resent  it:  true,  it  was 
public  enough,  but  less  dishonourable  to  her  than  any  of 
her  former  intrigues.  Poor  Lord  Shrewsbury,  too  polite  a 
man  to  make  any  reproaches  to  his  wife,  was  resolved  to 
have  redress  for  his  injured  honour.  He  accordingly  chal- 
lenged the  Duke  of  Buckingham ;  and  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, as  a  reparation  for  his  honour,  having  killed  him 
upon  the  spot,  remained  a  peaceable  possessor  of  this 
famous  Helen^'  (January  16th,  1667).* 

*  Pepys  has  the  following  entry  in  his  Diary,  January  17th,  1667: — 
"  Much  discourse  of  the  duel  yesterday  between  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
Holmes,  and  one  Jenkins  on  one  side,  and  my  Lord  of  Shrewt>bury,  Sir  John 
Talbot,  and  one  Bernard  Howard,  on  the  other  side;  and  all  about  my  Lady 
Shrewsljury,  who  is  at  this  time,  and  hatli  for  a  great  while  been,  a  mistress 
to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham.  And  so  lier  husband  challenged  him,  and  they 
met  yesterday  in  a  close  near  Barn  Kims,  and  there  fought  :  and  my  Lord 
Shrewsbury  is  run  through  the  body,  from  the  right  breast  through  the 
shoulder;  and  Sir  Jolm  Talbot  all  along  up  one  of  his  arms;  and  Jenkins 
killed  u{)on  the  {dace,  and  the  rest  all  in  a  little  measure  w(mnded.  This 
will  make  the  world  think  that  the  King  hath  good  counsellors  abt)ut  him, 
when  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  greatest  man  about  him,  is  a  fellow  of 
no  more  sobriety  than  to  fight  about  a  mistress.  And  this  may  prove  a  very 
bad  accident  to  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  but  that  my  Lady  Cattlemaine  do 


I 


222 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH  ; 


Lord  Shrewsbury  was  not  killed  on  tlie  spot,  but,  liaving 
been  run  tlirougb  the  body  from  the  right  breast  to  the 
shoulder,  died  of  the  wound  on  the  16th  of  March.      The 
affair  is  tragical  enough  in  this  brief  statement  of  it,  and 
supplies  a  moral  which  anyone  may  read ;  but  we  may 
possibly  dismiss  as  invented  embellishments  the  stories 
that  the  shameless  woman  for  whom  so  much  blood  was 
shed  held  the  Duke's  horse  during  the  combat,  attired  as 
a  page,  and  that  afterwards  the  Duke  passed  the  night  with 
her  in  his  bloody  shirt.     For  the  credit  of  human  nature 
let  us  hope  that  these  horrible  circumstances  are  not  true. 
Without  them  the  narrative  is  dark  enough,  and  fills  the 
mind  with  wonder  that  the  chief  characters  who  figure  in 
it  were  not  overwhelmed  with  the  anger  and  detestation 
of  society.     Parliament,  it  is  true,  took  some  slight  notice 
of  the  double  adultery  and  murder,  faintly  remembering 
the  maxim  that  -Noblesse  oblige."      Buckingham  was 
called  to  the  bar  of  the  House  of  Peers  for  ''  scandalously 
living  with  Lady  Slirewsbury  as  man  and  wife,  he  being  a 
married  man  ;  and  for  having  killed  my  Lord  Shrewsbury, 
after  he  had  debauched  his  wife ; "  but  it  does  not  appear 
that  any  public  censure  was  pronounced  upon  him. 

Two  months  after  the  death  of  her  husband,  the  Duke 
installed  the  Countess  in  his  own  house.  For  the  first 
time  in  her  married  life  the  Duchess  found  courage  to 

riilp  all  at  thi-^  time  as  much  as  ever  she  did,  and  she  will,  it  is  believed,  keep 

In  iir   te  <   vell\^^^     the  Duke  of  Buckingham  :  thougli  this  is  a  time  that 

the  Kinff^vill  he  very  backward,  I  supp..se,  to  appear  in  such  a  busmess. 

And  it  i^)rettv  to  hear  how  the  King  had  some  notion  ot  this  challenge  a 

1    nr  two  -L)  an<l  did  -ivr  it  t.>  n.v  l.ord  General  to  coniine  tlie  Duke,  or 

^\:  t^^^'S^rVj^ouhl  not  do  any  .uch  thing  as  fight:  and  the  general 

rusted  to  the  King  that  he,  sending  for  him.  would  do  it  ;  and  the  King 

irZted  to  tie  general.      And  it  is  said  that  n.y  Lord  Shrewsbury's  case  is  to 

be  feared   t  at  he  mav  die  too  ;  and  that  may  make  it  much  worse  for  the 

Duke  of  Bualinghanf :  and  I  shall  not  le  much  sorry  for  it,  that  we  may 

have  some  sober  man  come  in  his  room  to  assist  in  the  Government. 


on,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


223 


protest  against  the  dishonour  done  her,  and  angrily  pro- 
tested  that  it  was  impossible  she  could  live  under  the 
same  roof  with  her  husband's  paramour.  ''  So  I  thought. 
Madam,"  said  the  Duke,  coldly,  "  and  have  therefore 
ordered  your  coach  to  convey  you  to  your  father."  It  has 
been  stated  that  the  Duke  was  married  to  the  Countess  by 
his  chaplain.  Dr.  Sprat;  but  as  the  illegal  act  would  have 
placed  him  in  the  power  of  his  enemies,  we  may  dismiss 
the  tale  as  without  foundation.  He  had  a  son  by  the 
Countess,  to  whom  the  King  was  weak  enough  and 
shameless  enough  to  stand  godfather.  Buckingham  be- 
stowed on  him  his  second  title  of  Earl  of  Coventry ;  but 
the  child  died  at  an  early  age. 

There  can  be  no  question  that  the  Countess,  by  her  wit 
and  beauty,  exercised  over  the  fickle  Duke  a  very  con- 
siderable influence.  The  French  Ambassador  thought  it 
worth  his  while  to  secure  her  good  offices  for  political  pur- 
poses, and  it  is  on  record  that  he  presented  her  with  a 
gratuity  of  10,000  livres.  A  pension  was  afterwards  settled 
upon  her  by  the  French  Court,  and  she  then  undertook 
that  "she  would  make  Buckingham  comply  with  Kino- 
Charles  in  all  things." 

That  he  was  capable  of  better  things,  and,  if  he  had 
concentrated  his  powers,  could  have  done  some  worthy 
work  in  English  literature,  was  shown  by  his  amazingly 
clever  burlesque  of  "The  Eehearsal,"  produced  at  the 
King's  Theatre  in  1671.  Its  merits  are  very  great:  it 
is  original  in  design,  is  witty,  decent,  well  written,  and 
skilfully  constructed.  Its  vigorous  protest  against  the 
extravagance  and  lewdness  of  the  Caroline  drama  was 
urgently  needed,  for  Dryden  and  Sir  Eobert  Howard  had 
flooded  the  stage  with  nonsensical  and  indecent  rant. 


224 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


225 


It  was  in  just  ridicule  of  this  hyperbolical  absurdity 
that  Buckingham  wrote  his  "Eehearsal,"^  produced  at 
the  Theatre  Royal  on  7th  of  December,  1671.  Its  success 
was  immediate,  "  the  very  popularity  of  the  plays  ridi- 
culed aiding/'  as  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  remarked,  "  the 
effect  of  the  satire,  since  evrerybody  had  in  their  recollec- 
tion the  originals  of  the  passages  parodied  ; ''  and  the 
heroic  drama  eventually  sank  under  the  effectual  blows 
levelled  at  it  by  the  satirist. 

^'  The  Rehearsal  "  is,  of  course,  in  five  acts,  but  it  has 
no  plot ;  the  characters  come  and  go  without  any  interde- 
pendence upon  each  other's  actions.   These  characters  are 
Bayes,t  Johnson,  and  Smith ;  the  Two  Kings  of  Brent- 
ford (an  allusion,  perhaps,  to  Charles  II.  and  his  brother, 
the  Duke)  ;  Prince  Prettyman,  Prince  Volscius ;  Gentle- 
man  Usher ;    Physician  ;    Drawcansir   (to   rhyme  with 
Dryden's  Almanzor) ;  General   and   Lieutenant- General ; 
Cordelia,     Tom     Thimble,    Fisherman,    Sun,    Thunder, 
Players,  Soldiers,  Two  Heralds,  Four  Cardinals,  Mayor, 
Judges,    Sergeants-at-Arms  ;    Amaryllis,   Cloris,   Parthe- 
nope,   Pallas,   Lightning,  Morn,  Earth.      The   scene  is 
laid  at  Brentford,  and  the  first   act  opens  with  a  dia- 
logue    between   Smith,   a   countryman,   and  Johnson,   a 
citizen,  upon  plays.  To  them  enters  Bayes,  who  presently 
informs  them  that  the  last  rehearsal  of  a  new  play  of  his 
is  fixed  for  that  very  morning,  and  invites  them  to  attend. 
They  are  well  pleased  to  do  so,  and  thenceforth  Bayes, 
throughout  the  piece,  acts  as  a  kind  of  Chorus,  explaining 

*  In  coDJuTietioii,  it  is  said,  with  Martin  Clifford,  Master  of  the  Charter 
TTnime   l»r   Si'iat.  Hutler,  and  others. 

^t  S  lirst  iir  Kichard  Howard,  under  the  name  of  Bilboa  was  the  hei^ 
Then  Davenant  was  substituted,  and  as  he  was  poet  laureate  l^ayes  waa 
substituted  lor  Bilboa.  Finally,  Dryden,  aa  the  chiei  author  of  heroic  plays, 
was  selected  as  the  object  of  ridicule. 


everything  that  takes  place  on  the  stage.  There  is  a 
little  joke  about  Amarillis :  as  she  wears  armour,  Bayes 
will  call  her  Armarillis,  and  then  he  proceeds  : 

"Look  you,  sir,  the  chief  hinge  of  the  play,  upon  which  the  whole  plot 
moves  and  turns,  and  that  causes  the  variety  of  all  the  several  accidents 
which,  you  know,  are  the  thing  in  Nature  that  make  up  the  grand  refine' 
ment  of  a  play,  is,  tliat  I  suppose  two  Kings  to  be  of  the  same  place :  as, 
for  example,  at  Brentford  ;  for  I  love  to  write  familiarly.  Now  the  people 
having  the  same  relations  to  'em  both,  the  same  affections,  the  same  duty, 
the  same  obedience,  and  all  that ;  are  divided  among  themselves  in  point  of 
devoir  and  interest,  how  to  behave  themselves  equally  between  'em:  these 
Kings  differing  sometimes  in  particular;  though,  in  the  main,  they  agree 
(I  know  not  whether  I  make  myself  well  understood). 

John.—l  did  not  observe  you,  sir  ;  pray  say  that  again. 

Baijes.—Why,  look  you,  sir  (nay,  I  beseech,  you  be  a  little  curious  in 
taking  notice  of  this  ;  or  else  you'll  never  understand  my  notion  of  the 
thing) ;  the  people  being  embarrassed  by  their  equal  ties  to  both,  and  the 
Sovereigns  concerned  in  a  reciprocal  regard,  as  well  to  their  own  interest, 
aa  the  good  of  the  people,  make  a  certain  kind  of  a— you  understand  mc  * 
upon  which,  there  do  arise  several  disputes,  turmoils,  heart-burnings,  and 
all  that—  In  fine,  you'll  apprehend  it  better  when  yon  see  it. 

[£xit  to  call  the  Players, 
Smith.— I  find  the  author  will  be  very  much  obliged  to  the  players,  if 
they  can  make  any  sense  out  of  this. 

Enter  Bates. 
Now,  gentlemen,  I  would  fain  ask  your  opinion  of  one  thing.  I  have 
made  a  prologue  and  an  epilogue,  which  may  both  serve  for  eithe!- ;  that  is, 
the  prologue  for  the  epilogue,  or  the  epilogue  for  the  prologue*' (do  yon 
mark  ?)  ;  nay,  they  may  both  serve  too,  I'gad,  for  any  other  plly  aa  well  aa 
this. 

Smith.—Yerj  well ;  that's  indeed  artificial. 

Bayes— And  I  w^ould  fain  ask  year  judgments,  now,  which  of  them 
would  do  best  for  the  prologue  ?  For,  you  must  know  there  is,  in  nature, 
but  two  ways  of  making  very  good  prologues :  the  one  is  by  civility,  by 
insinuation,  good  language,  and  all  that,  to— a— in  a  manner,  steal  your 
plaudit  from  the  courtesy  of  the  auditors;  the  other,  by  making  use  of 
some  certain  personal  things,  which  may  keep  a  hawk  upon  such  censuring 
persons,  as  cannot  otherwise,  I'gad,  in  nature,  be  hindered  from  being  too 
free  with  their  tongues.  To  which  end,  my  first  prologue  is,  that  I  come 
out  in  a  long  black  veil,  and  a  great  hugo  hangman  behind  me,  with  a  furred 
cap,  and  his  sword  dnuvn  ;  and  there  tell  'em  plainly,  that  if  out  of  good 
nature  they  will  not  like  my  play,  Igad,  I'll  een  kneel  down,  and  he  shall 
cut  my  head  off.     Whereupon  they  all  clapping— a— 

*  An  allusion  to  the  two  Prologues  to  the  "  Maiden  Queen." 
VOL.    II.  Q 


226 


THE    MEEEY   MONAECH  ; 


iSwitf/i.— Ay,  but  suppose  they  doii*t. 

Bai/e*.— Suppose  I  Sir,  you  may  suppose  what  you  please,  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  your  suppose,  sir ;  nor  am  at  all  mortified  at  it ;  not  at  all,  sir; 
I'gad,  not  one  jot,  sir.     Suppose  quoth  a !— ha,  ha,  ha !  IWalhs  away," 

The  dialogue  tlien  turns  on  the  various  devices  con- 
trived for  securing  the  applause  of  an  audience;  and 
with  the  introduction  of  Thunder  and  Lightning  to  speak 
the  Prologue,  the  first  act  ends.  A  lively  parody  occurs 
in  this  part  of  the  scene  : — 

"  Bayes.—l  have  made  too,  one  of  the  most  delicate  dainty  similes  in  the 
whole  world,  I'gad,  if  I  knew  but  how  to  apply  it. 

fimit/i.— Let's  hear  it,  I  pray  you. 

JBayes. — 'Tis  an  allusion  to  Love. 

So  Boar  and  Sow,  when  any  storm  is  nigh, 
Snuff  up,  and  smell  it  gath'ring  in  the  sky : 
Boar  beckons  Sow  to  trot  in  chestnut  groves, 
And  there  consummate  their  unfinished  loves. 
Pensive  in  mud  they  wallow  all  alone. 
And  snort  and  gruntle  to  each  other's  moan."  * 

The  second  act  introduces  the  Gentleman  Usher  and 
Physician  of  the  two  Kings,  who  converse  in  whispers— a 
hit  at  Davenant's  "  Play-house  to  be  Let "  and  at ''  The 
Amorous  Prince  "—on  matters  of  State,  and  then  go  off, 
without  having  in  any  way  advanced  the  action.  The 
two  Kings  enter,  hand-in-hand—"  speak  French  to  show 
their  breeding  "—and  quickly  exeunt.  Prince  Prettyman 
next  appears : — 

"  Prince.— How  strange  a  captive  am  I  grown  of  late ! 
Shall  I  accuse  my  love,  or  blame  my  fate  ? 
My  love,  I  cannot ;  that  is  too  divine : 
And  against  fate  what  mortal  dares  repine  ? 

*'0f  Dryden*s  "  Conquest  of  Granada,"  part  ii.,  a.  i.,  s.  2.:— 
•*  So  two  kind  turtles,  when  a  storm  is  nigh, 
Look  up,  and  see  it  gathering  in  the  sky. 
Each  call  his  mate  to  shelter  in  the  groves. 
Leaving  in  murmurs  their  unfinished  loves. 
Perched  on  some  drooping  branch  they  sit  alone, 
And  coo,  and  hearken  to  each  other's  moan." 


\  i 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


227 


[Lies  down. 


Enter  Cloris. 

But  here  she  comes. 

Since  'tis  some  blazing  Count,  is  it  not  ? 
Bayes.—B]Rzmg  Count !  mark  that.     I'gad,  very  fine. 
Pret^But  I  am  so  surprised  with  sleep,  I  cannot  speak  the  rest. 

{^Sleeps.* 
Bayes.—BocB  not  that,  now,  surprise  you,  to  fall  asleep  just  in  the  nick? 
His  spirits  exhale  with  the  heat  of  his  passion,  and  all  that,  and  swop  falls 
asleep,  as  you  see.       Now  here  she  must  make  a  simile. 

Bayes.—Bnt  she's  surprised.f      That's  a  general  rule  :    you  must  ever 
make  a  simile  when  you  are  surprised  ;  'tis  the  new  way  of  writing. 
Claris.— As  some  tall  Pine  which  we  on  Etna  find 

I  have  stood  the  rage  of  many  a  boisterous  wind. 
Feeling  without,  that  flames  within  do  play, 
Which  would  consonie  his  root  and  sap  away  ; 
He  spreads  his  wasted  arms  unto  the  skies. 
Silently  grieves,  all  pale,  repines  and  dies: 
So,  shrouded  up,  your  bright  eye  disappears. 
Break  forth,  bright  scorching  sun,  and  dry  my  tears.  [Exit. 

Bayes.~l  am  afraid,  gentlemen,  this  scene  has  made  you  sad;  for  I  must 
confess,  when  I  writ  it,  I  wept  myself. 

Smith.— Iso,  truly,  sir,  my  spirits  are  almost  exhaled  too,  and  I  am  likelier 
to  fall  asleep. 

Prince  Prettyman  starts  up,  and  says— 
Fret. — It  is  resolved.  [Exit 

Smith.— Mr,  Bayes,  may  one  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you  a  question,  now, 
and  you  not  be  angry  ? 

Bayes.-^O  Lord,  sir,  you  may  ask  me  what  you  please.  I  vow  to  gad, 
you  do  me  a  great  deal  of  honour :  you  do  not  know  me,  if  you  say  that, 
sir. 

Smith.— Then,  pray,  sir,  what  is  it  that  this  Prince  here  has  resolved  in 
his  sleep  ? 

Bayes.— Why,  I  must  confess,  that  question  is  well  enough  asked,  for  one 
that  is  not  acquainted  with  this  our  way  of  writing.  But  you  must  know, 
sir,  that,  to  out-do  all  my  fellow-writers,  whereas  they  keep  their  intrigs 
secret  till  the  very  last  scene  before  the  dance;  I  now,  sir,  do  you  mark 
me  ? — a — 

Smith.— Begin  the  play,  and  end  it,  without  ever  opening  the  plot  at  all  ? 

Bayes.—l  do  so,  that's  the  very  plain  truth  on't :  ha,  ha,  ha  ;  I  do,  I'gad. 
If  they  cannot  find  it  out  themselves,  e'en  let  'em  alone  for  Bayes,  I 
warrant  you.  But  here  now,  is  a  scene  of  business:  pray  observe  it;  for 
I  daresay  you'll  think  it  no  unwise  discourse  this,  nor  ill-argued." 

In  this  scene  of  business,  the  Gentleman   Usher  and 

*  In  ridicule  of  an  incident  in  Sir  W.  Berkeley's  "  The  Lost  Lady." 
t  Dry  den's  "Indian  Emperor,"  a.  iv.,  s.  4. 


228 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


Physician  seat  themselves  on  the  thrones  of  the  Two 
Kings,  and  then  march  out,  flourishing  their  swords. 
Smith  naturally  asks,  "how  they  came  to  depose  the 
Kings  so  easily  ?  "  but  expresses  himself  satisfied  when 
Bayes  replies,  that  "  they  long  had  a  design  to  do  it 
before  ;  but  never  could  put  it  in  practice  till  now ;  and, 
to  tell  you  true,"  he  adds,  "  that's  one  reason  why  I 
made  'em  whisper  so  at  first." 

At  the  end  of  the  scene  Mr.  Bayes  accidentally  injures 
liig  nose— an  allusion  to  Sir  William  Uavenant's  damaged 
feature— so  that  in  Act  iii.  he  appears  with  a  paper  on  it. 
Prince  Prettyman  enters  with  Tom  Thimble,  and  the  two 
are  made  to  caricature  Dryden's  comic  writing  in  ''  The 
Wild  Gallant."  The  second  scene  brings  on  the  two 
Qsurpers,  to  whom  Cordelia  brings  news  from  Prince 
Volscius ;  and  afterwards  enters  Amarillis,  "  with  a  book 
in  her  hand."  By  a  mysterious  turn  of  fate.  Prince 
Prettyman  is  revealed  as  a  fisherman's  son  — 

"A  secret,  great  as  is  the  world, 
In  which  I,  lilu;  the  Sool,  am  tossed  and  hurled" — 

and  having  disclosed  this  secret,  goes  out,  in  order  that 
Prince  Volscius,  Cloris,  Amarillis,  and  Harry  "with  a 
ridino-  cloak  and  boots  "  (in  ridicule  of  James  Steward's 
"Enf-lish  Musician  ")  may  enter  ;  with  Parthenope  after- 
wards.  While  Prince  Yolscius  is  pulling  on  his  boots,  to 
join  his  army  at  Kightsbridge,  he  sees  Parthenope,  and 
falls  in  love  with  her. 

VoLsnrs  sits  down. 
"  How  has  my  passion  made  me  Cupid's  scoff  ! 
This  hasty  boot  is  on.  tlie  other  off, 
And  sullen  lies,  witli  amorous  <lesign 
To  quit  loud  fame,  and  make  that  Beauty  mine. 
My  legs,  the  emblem  of  my  various  thought, 
Show  to  what  sad  distractiou  I  am  brought. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  11, 


229 


Sometimes,  w^ith  stubborn  Honour,  like  this  boot, 
My  mind  is  guarded,  and  resolved  to  do't: 
Sometimes,  again,  that  very  mind,  by  Love 
Disarmt^d,  like  this  other  Leg  does  prove. 
Johnson. — What  pains  Mr.  Bayes  takes  to  act  this  speech  himself !  * 
Synith. — Aye,  the  fool,  I  see,  is  mightily  transported  with  it. 
Volscius. — Shall  I  to  Honour  or  to  Love  give  way  ? 

Go  on,  cries  Honour  ;  tender  Love  says,  nay : 
Honour,  aloud,  commands,  pluck  both  boots  on; 
But  softer  Love  does  whisper,  put  on  none. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  what  conduct  shall  I  find 
To  lead  me  through  this  twilight  of  my  mind  ? 
For  as  bright  Day  with  black  approach  of  Night 
Contending,  makes  a  doubtful  puzzling  light; 
So  does  my  Honour  and  my  Love  together 
Puzzle  me  so,  1  can  resolve  for  neither. 

[_l:xit  2cith  one  boot  on,  and  the  othei  off, 
Johnson. — By  my  troth,  sir,  this  is  as  difficult  a  combat  as  ever  I  saw, 
and  as  equal ;  for  'tis  determined  on  neither  side. 

Bayes. — Ay,  is't  not,  I'gad,t  ha  ?  For,  to  go  off  hip  hop,  hip  hop,  upon 
this  occasion,  is  a  thousand  times  better  than  any  conclusion  in  the  world, 
I'gad.  But,  sirs,  you  cannot  make  any  judgment  of  this  Play,  because  we 
are  come  but  to  the  end  of  the  second  Act.     Come,  the  Dame." 

The  fourth  act  opens  with  the  usual  conversation 
between  the  dramatist  and  his  visitors,  in  which  Buck- 
ingham takes  occasion  to  ridicule  the  absurd  custom  then 
in  vogue  of  writing  plays  in  several  parts — as,  for  instance, 
Davenant's  "  Siege  of  Rhodes," — making  Bayes  say — 
"  Whereas  every  one  makes  five  acts  to  one  play, 
what  do  me  I  but  make  five  plays  to  one  plot ;  by 
wh-ich  means  the  auditors  have  every  day  a  new  thing. 
And  then,  upon  Saturday,  to  make  a  close  of  all,  (for  I 
ever  begin  upon  a  Monday),  I  make  you,  sir,  a  sixth 
play  that  sums  up  the  whole  matter  to  'em,  and  all  that, 
for  fear  they  should  have  forgot  it."  He  has  also  a  satiric 
allusion  to  the  horrors  accumulated  in  Dryden's  "  Con- 
quest of  Granada.' 


»> 


*  An  allusion  to  Dryden's  bad  mode  of  reading, 
t  A  favourite  expletive  with  Dryden. 


230 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


"  Bayes. — I  make  a  male  person  to  be  in  love  with  a  female. 

Smith.— Do  yon  mean  that,  Mr.  Bayes,  for  a  new  thing  ? 

Bayes.— Yes,  sir,  as  I  have  ordered  it.  Yon  shall  hear.  He  having 
passionately  loved  her  through  my  five  whole  plays,  finding  at  last  that  she 
consents  to  his  love,  just  after  that  his  mother  had  appeared  to  him  like  a 
ghost,  he  kills  himself.  That's  one  way.  The  other  is,  that  she  coming  at 
last  to  love  him,  with  as  violent  a  passion  as  he  loved  her,  she  kills  her- 
self." 

A  funeral  now  comes  upon  the  stage,  with  the  two 
Usurpers  and  attendants. 

a  Xing  Usher. — Set  down  the  Funeral  Pile,  and  lot  our  grief 
Eeceive,  from  its  embraces,  some  relief. 

King  Fhysidan. — Was't  not  unjust  to  ravish  hence  her  breath, 

And,  in  life's  stead,  to  leave  us  nought  but  death  ? 
The  world  discovers  now  its  emptiness, 
And,  by  her  loss,  demonstrates  we  have  less. 

Bayes. — Is  not  that  good  language  now  ?  is  not  that  elevate  ?  It's  my 
non  ultra,  I'gad.     You  must  know  they  were  both  in  love  with  her. 

Smith. — With  her  ?  with  whom  ? 

Bayes.— \^^hJ,  this  is  Lardella's  funeral. 

/Stw/M.— Lardella !     I,  who  is  she  ? 

Bayes.— Why,  sir,  the  sister  of  Drawcansir.  A  lady  that  was  drowned 
at  sea,  and  bad  a  wave  for  her  winding-sheet.* 

King  ^sAer.— Lardella,  O  Lardella,  from  above. 
Behold  the  tragic  issue  of  our  love. 
Pity  us,  sinking  under  grief  and  pain, 
For  thy  being  cast  away  upon  the  main. 

Bayes. — Look  you  now,  you  see  I  told  you  true. 

Smith.— Aye,  sir,  and  I  thank  you  for  it,  very  kindly. 

Bayes.— Ay,  I'gad,  but  you  will  not  have  patience ;  honest  Mr.  — a— 
you  will  not  have  patience. 

Johnson.— Fr3.y,  Mr.  Bayes,  who  is  that  Drawcansir  ?.t 

£(lyes.—^\hy,  sir,  a  fierce  hero,  that  frights  his  mistress,  snubs  up  kings, 
baffles  armies,  and  does  what  he  will  without  regard  to  good  manners, 
justice,  or  numbers. 

Mr.  Bayes  then  snatches  from  the  coffin  a  copy  of  verses 

*  So  in  "  The  Conquest  of  Granada  "  : — 

*'  For  my  winding  sheet,  a  wave 
I  had  ;  and  all'the  ocean  for  my  grave." 
t  Almanzor,  in  the  same  play.  "I  have  found  a  hero,"  says  Dryden,  in 
his  Dedication  ;  "  I  confess,  not  absolutely  perfect ;  but  of  an  excessive  and 
over  boiling  courage.  Both  Homer  and  Tasso  are  my  precedents.  Both  the 
Greek  and  the  Italian  poet  had  well  considered  that  a  tame  hero  who  never 
transgresses  the  bounds  of  moral  virtue,  would  shine  but  dimly  in  an 
epic  poem.'* 


T^ 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


231 


5> 


which  Lardella  composed,  just  as  she  was  dying,  with  the 
view  that  it  should  be  pinned  upon  her  coffin,  and  so  read 
by  one  of  the  Usurpers,  who  was  her  cousin.  Bayes  is  at 
much  pains  to  explain  that  Lardella,  in  this  paper,  makes 
love  "like  a  Humble  Bee."  The  whole  passage  is  in 
close  and  exquisite  parody  of  Dryden's  "  Tyrannic  Love, 
Act  iii,  s.  1. 

"  Since  death  my  earthly  part  will  thus  remove, 
I'll  come  a  Humble  Bee  to  your  chaste  love. 
With  silent  wings,  I'll  follow  you,  dear  couz  ; 
Or  else,  before  you,  in  the  sunbeams  buz. 
And  when  to  melancholy  groves  you  come, 
An  airy  ghost,  you'll  know  me  by  my  Hum  ; 
For  sound,  being  air,  a  ghost  does  well  become. 

[Dryden : — My  earthly  part    .    .    . 

Which  is  my  tyrant's  right,  death  will  remove, 
I'll  come  all  soul  and  spirit  to  your  love. 
With  silent  steps  I'll  follow  you  all  day ; 
Or  else  before  you,  in  the  sunbeams,  play, 
ril  lead  you  thence  to  melancholy  groves, 
And  there  repeat  the  scenes  of  our  past  loves.] 

At  night,  into  your  bosom  I  will  creep. 
And  Buz  but  softly  if  you  chance  to  sleep  : 
Yet,  in  your  dreams,  I  will  pass  sweeping  by, 
And  then,  both  Hum  and  Buz  before  your  eye. 

[Dryden  : — At  night  I  will  within  your  curtains  peep  ; 

With  empty  arms  embrace  you  while  you  sleep. 
In  gentle  dreams  I  often  will  be  by  ; 
And  sweep  along  before  your  closing  eye.] 

Your  bed  of  love  from  dangers  I  will  free ; 

But  most  from  love  of  any  future  Bee. 

And  when,  with  pity,  your  heart-strings  shall  crack. 

With  empty  arms  I'll  bear  you  on  my  back. 

Then  at  your  birth  of  immortality. 

Like  any  winged  archer  hence  I'll  fly, 

And  teach  you  your  first  flutt'ring  in  the  sky. 

[Dryden : — All  dangers  from  your  bed  I  will  remove  ; 
But  guard  it  most  from  any  future  love. 
And  when,  at  last,  in  pity,  you  will  die, 
I'll  watch  your  birth  of  immortality  : 
Then,  turtle-like,  I'll  to  my  mate  repair ; 
And  teach  you  your  first  flight  in  open  air.]  " 


232 


THE    MEERY    MONARCH; 


The  two  Usurpers  are  about  to  kill  themselves  on  Lar- 
della's  tomb,  when  Pallas  enters ;  forbids  the  sacrifice ; 
informs  them  that  Lardella  lives  ;  and  that  from  these 
funeral  obsequies  shall  arise  a  nuptial  banquet.  The 
coffin  opens  and  discovers  the  promised  banquet.  While 
the  two  Usurpers  are  partaking  of  it,  enters  Drawcansir :  — 

"King  Physician.— ^hvd  man  is  this  that  dares  disturb  our  feast? 
Dram. — He  that  dares  drink,  and  for  that  drink  dares  die, 
And  knowinj^  this,  dares  yet  drink  on,  am  I.* 
t7o7mso7i.— That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  that  tlioughhe  would  rather  die  than 
not  drink,  yet  he  would  fain  drink  for  all  that  too. 
Bayes. — Eight ;  that's  the  conceipt  on't. 
Johnson.— 'Tv?>  a  marvellous  good  one  ;  I  swear. 

King  Usher. — Sir,  if  you  please,  we  should  be  glad  to  know 

How  long  you  here  will  stay,  how  soon  you'll  go. 
Bayes. — Is  not  that  now  like  a  well-bred  person,  I'gad  ?    So  modest,  so 
gent! 

Smith. — Oh,  very  like. 

Draw. — You  shall  not  know  how  long  I  here  will  stay  ; 
But  you  shall  know  I'll  take  my  bowls  away.f 
[Snatches  the  bowls  out  of  the  King's  hands^  anddritiks'em  off. 
Smith. — But,  Mr.  B:i}es,  is  that  (too)  modest  and  gent  ? 
Bayes. — No,  I'gad,  Sir,  but  its  great. 
King  Usher. — Tliough,  Brother,  this  grum  stranger  be  a  clown, 
He'll  leave  us,  sure,  a  little  to  gulp  down. 
Draw. — Whoe'er  to  gulp  one  drop  of  this  dares  think, 
I'll  stare  away  his  very  power  to  drink. 

{The  two  Kings  sneak  off  the  Stagrwith  their  Attendants, 
I  drink,  I  huff,  I  strut,  look  big  and  stare  ; 
And  all  this  I  can  do,  because  I  dare."  | 

The  next  persons  involved  in  this  amazing  mystery, 
which  reminds  us  of  Pope^s  famous  line — ^'  a  mighty  maze, 

*  Dryden,  "  Conquest  of  Granada"  : — 

Almahide. — "  My  Lidit  will  sure  discover  those  who  talk ; 

Who  dares  to  interrupt  my  private  walk? 
Almanzor — He  who  dares  love;  and  for  that  love  must  die, 
And  knowing  this,  dares  yet  love  on,  am  I." 
t  "  I  will  out  now,  if  thou  would'st  beg  me,  stay  : 
But  I  will  take  my  Almahide  away" 

Dryden,  "  Conquest  of  Granada,"  pt.  i,  a.  v. 
X  jlZwtansor.— Spite  of  myself  I'll  stay,  fight,  love,  despair, 
And  I  can  do  all  this,  because  I  dare. 

"  Conquest  of  Granada,"  part  ii.,  a.  ii. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


233 


yet  not  without  a  plan  "—are  the  two  princes,  Pretty  man 
and  Volscius.  Bayes  explains  that,  according  to  another 
new  conceit,  he  makes  them  fall  out  because  they  are  not 
in  love  with  the  same  woman.  The  dialogue  between  them 
is  carried  on  in  sonorous  ^'  heroic  couplets,"  because,  says 
Bayes,  "  the  subject  is  too  great  for  prose,"  and  he  inter- 
rupts at  almost  every  line  to  express  his  admiration  of  his 
own  work.  "  Oh,  Pgad,"  he  says,  "  that  strikes  me  .  .  . 
Now  the  Rant's  a  coming  .  .  .  Ah,  Godsookers,  that's  well 
writ !  .  .  .  Well,  gentlemen,  this  is  that  I  never  yet  saw 
any  one  write  bat  myself.  .  .  Here's  true  spirit  and  flame 
all  through,  I'gad."  And  amid  this  self-laudation  the 
curtain  drops. 

Act  the  fifth  opens  with  the  usual  introductory  words 
on  the  part  of  Bayes.  ''Now,  gentlemen,"  he  says,  ^'I 
will  be  bold  to  say,  I'll  show  you  the  greatest  scene  that 
ever  England  saw :  I  mean  not  for  words,  for  those  I  do 
not  value;  but  for  state,  show,  and  magnificence."  It  is 
to  surpass  the  great  scene  in  Henry  VIII.,  for  instead  of 
ten  bishops,  he  brings  in  four  cardinals.  Here  is  the  stage 
direction  : — "  The  curtain  is  drawn  up,  and  the  two  Usurp- 
ing Kings  appear  in  State,  with  the  four  Cardinals,  Prince 
Prettyman,  Prince  Volscius,  Amarillis,  Cloris,  Parthenope, 
&c.,  before  them  Heralds  and  Serjeants  at  Arms  with  Maces." 
The  tw^o  Princes  contend  who  shall  speak  first,  each  wish- 
ing the  other  to  take  precedence,  but  at  last  they  give 
priority  to  Amarillis.  Just  as  she  is  on  the  point  of 
addressing  the  company,  *'  soft  music  ^'  is  heard,  and  the 
two  right  kings  of  Brentford  descend  in  the  clouds,  sing- 
ing, in  white  garments,  with  three  fiddlers  sitting  before 
them  in  green.  At  this  unexpected  sight  the  two  Usurpers 
steal  away;  and  the  two  rightful  monarchs  join  in  a  duet. 


234 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


which  as  well  as  "  the  descent  in  clouds,"  is  parodied  from* 
Dryden's  '^  Tyrannic  Love."  We  print  the  original  and  the 
travesty  side  by  side  that  the  spirit  and  fun  of  the  latter 
may  be  better  appreciated : — 


Frmn  "  The  Rehearsal." 

"  1  King. — Haste,  brother  King,  we 

are  sent  from  above. 
2  King. — Let  us  move,  let  us  move : 
Move  to  remove  the  Fate 
Of       Brentford's       long 
united    State. 

1  King. — Tara,  tara,  tara,  full  East 

and  bj  South ; 

2  JSngr.— We  sail  with  thunder  in 

our  mouth. 
In  scorching    noon-day, 

whilst     the     traveller 

strays, 
Busy,  busy,  busy,  busy, 

we  hustle  along. 
Mounted     upon      warm 

Phoebus  his  rays, 
Through    the    heavenly 

throng, 

Haste  to  those 
Who    will    feast   us,   at 

night,     with    a    pig's 

pretty  toes. 

1  iSTinflr.— And    w ell  fall  with  our 

pato 
In  an  ollio  of  hate. 

2  King, — But  now  supper's  done, 

the  servitors  try, 
Like  soldiers,  to  storm  a 
whole  half-moon  pie. 

1  ffing.— They  gather,  they  gather 
hot  custard  in  spoons, 

Alas,  I  must  leave  these 
half-moons, 

And  repair  to  my  trusty 
dragoons." 


From  "  Tyrannic  Love." 

"  Nakar. — Hark, my  Damilear,  we 
are  called  below. 
Damilear. — Let  us  go,  let  us  go  I 
Go  to  relieve  the  care 
Of   longing  lovers   in 
despair ! 
NaJtar. — Merry,  merry,  merry, 
we  sail  from  the  East. 
Half  tippled  at  a  rain- 
bow feast. 
I)amil.—-ln  the   bright   moon- 
shine    while    winds 
whistle  loud, 
Tivy,    tivy,    tivy,   we 

mount  and  we  fly. 
All  racking  along  in  a 
downy  white  cloud: 
And  lest  our  leap  from 
the  sky  should  prove 
too  far. 
We  slide  on  the  back  of 
a  now-falling  star. 

Nakar. — And  drop  from  above 
In  a  jelly  of  love! 

Damil. — But  now  the  sun's 
down,  and  the  ele- 
ments red, 

The     spirits    of    fire 

against  us  make  head ! 

Nakar. — They      muster,     they 

muster,  like  gnats  in 

the  air, 

Alas!  I  must  have 
thee,  my  fair, 

And  to  my  light  horse- 
men repair. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


235 


2  King. — 0  stay,  for  you  need  not 

as  yet  go  astray ; 
The  tide,  like  a  friend, 

has   brought    ships    in 

our  way. 
And  on  their  high  ropes 

we  will  play. 
Like  maggots  in  filbirds, 

we'll  snug  in  our  shell; 
We'll  frisk  in  our  shell, 
We'll  friik  in  our  shell, 
And  farewell. 

1  King. — But  the  ladies  have  all 

inclination  to  dance. 
And     the     green    frogs 
croak  out  a  corants  of 
France. 

2  King. — Now,  mortals,  that  hear 

How  we  tilt  and  career, 
With  wonder  will  fear, 
The  want  of  such  things 
as  shall  never  appear. 


1  King. — Stay  you  to  fulfil  what 

the  gods  have  decreed ; 

2  King. — ^Then  call  me  to  help  you* 

if  there  shall  be  need. 

1  King. — So   firmly  resolved  is  a 
true  Brentford  King 
To    save   the    distressed 

and  help  to  'em  bring. 
That  ere  a  full  pot  of  good 

ale  you  can  swallow, 

He's  here  with  a  whoop, 

and  gone  with  a  hollow. 


5> 


Damil. — 0  stay,  for  you  need  not 

to  fear  'em  to-night; 

The  wind  is  for  us,  and 

blows   full    in    their 

sight : 

And  o'er  the  wide  ocean 

we  fight ! 

Like     leaves    in    the 

autumn  our  foes  will 

fall  down ; 

And  hiss  iu  the  water — 

Both. — And  hiss  in  the  water 

and  drown! 
Nakar. — But      their      men    lie 
securely   entrenched 
in  a  cloud : 
And  a  trumpeter  hor- 
net to  battle  sounds 
loud. 
Damil. — Now  mortals  that  spy 
How  we  tilt  in  the  sky 
With      wonder      will 

gaze; 
And  fear  such  events 
as  will  ne'er  come  to 
pass! 
Nakar. — Stay  you  to  perform 
what  the   man    will 
have  done. 
Damil. — Then    call    me    again 
when   the    battle  is 
won. 
Both. — So  ready  and  quick  is  a 
spirit  of  air 
To  pity  the  lover  and 

succour  the  fair. 
That,  silent  and  swift, 

the  little  soft  god 
Is  here  with  a  wish,  and 
is  gone  with  a  nod." 


The  two  Kings  descend  from  the  cloud  and  occupy  their 
thrones  after  this  flow  of  lyrical  nonsense.  Says  King 
No.  1,  "Come  now,  to  serious  counsel  we'll  advance.'* 
The  2nd  King  replies,  "  I  do  agree  ;  but  first,  let's  have  a 


236 


THE   MEERT   MONAECH ; 


dance."    The  dance  is  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  two 
Heralds,  who  announce  that 

"The  Enemy's  at  the  door,  and  in  disf^aise, 
Desires  a  word  with  both  yonr  Majesties  : 
Having,  from  Kiiightsbridge,  hither  march'd  by  stealth." 

King  No.  2  bids  them  attend  a  while,  and  "  drink  our 
health."  With  two  guineas  in  their  pockets — "  we  have 
not  seen  so  much  the  Lord  knows  when" — the  two 
Heralds  retire,  and  Amarillis  resumes  her  address.  It  is 
immediately  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  a  soldier 
with  his  sword  drawn,  who  warns  the  two  Kings  to  save 
their  royal  persons,  the  army  having  quarrelled  among 
themselves.  Here  Bayes  explains  that  to  avoid  inde- 
corum and  tediousness  he  sums  up  "  liis  whole  battle  in 
the  representation  of  two  persons  only."  '*  I  make  'em 
both  come  out  in  armour,  cap-a-pee,  with  their  swords 
drawn,  and  hung,  with  a  scarlet  ribbon  at  their  wrists 
(which,  you  know,  represents  fighting  enough)  each  of 
^em  holding  a  lute  in  his  hand."  "  How,  sir,"  says 
Smith,  "  instead  of  a  buckler  ? "  ^'0  lord,  O  lord ! 
instead  of  a  buckler?  Pray,  sir,  do  you  ask  no  more 
questions.  I  make  ^em,  sir,  play  the  battle  in  recitative.^' 
[A  parody  on  "  The  Siege  of  Ehodes."]  "  Just  at  the 
very  same  instant  that  one  sings,  the  other,  sir,  recovers 
you  his  sword,  and  puts  himself  in  a  warlike  posture :  so 
that  you  have  at  once  your  ear  entertained  with  music, 
and  good  language,  and  your  eye  satisfied  with  the  garb 
and  accoutrements  of  war." 

**  Enter f  at    several  doors,   the  General  and  Lieutenant-Qeneeal 
aryned  *  caj)-a-pee/  with  each  of  them  a  lute  in  his  hand,  and  his 
sword  drawn,  and  hung,  with  a  scarlet  ribbon  at  his  wrist. 
Lieut.-Qen. — Villain,  thou  liest. 

Qen. — Arm,  arm,  Gonzalvo,  arm;  what  No 
The  lie  no  flesh  can  brook,  I  trow. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDEE  CHAELES  II. 


237 


Lieut.-Qen. - 
Oen.- 
Lieut.-  Gen.- 

Gen»' 
Lieut.-Gen,- 

Qen.- 
LieuU'Qen.- 

Gen.- 

Lieut.-Gen.- 

Gen.- 

Lieut.-Gen.- 

Qen.- 


-Advance,  from  Acton,  with  the  Musqueteers. 

-Draw  down  the  Chelsea  cuirassiers. 

—The  band  you  boast  of,  Chelsea  cuirassiers, 

Shall,  in  my  Putney  pikes,  now  meet  their  peers. 
-Chiswickians,  aged,  and  renowned  in  JBght, 

Join  with  the  Hammersmith  brigade. 
-You'll  find  my  Mortlake  boys  will  do  their  right, 

Unless  by  Fulham  numbers  over-laid. 
-Let  the  left  wing  of  Twick'nam  foot  advance, 

And  line  that  eastern  hedge. 
—The  horse  I  raised  in  Petty  France 
Shall  try  their  chance. 

And  scour  the  meadows  over-grown  with  sedge. 
-Stand  :  give  the  word. 
—Bright  Sword. 
-That  may  be  thine, 

But  'tis  not  mine. 
—Give  fire,  give  fire,  at  once  give  fire. 

And  let  those  recreant  troops  perceive  mine  ire. 
-Pursue,  pursue ;  they  fly 

That  first  did  give  the  lie. 

\^Exeunt." 


But  every  battle  must  come  to  an  end.  And  how  does 
Bayes  effect  this  ?  ''  By  an  eclipse,  which,  let  me  tell  you, 
is  a  kind  of  fancy  that  was  yet  never  so  much  as  thought 
of,  but  by  myself,  and  one  person  more,  that  shall  be 
nameless." 

"  Enter  the  Lieutenant-General. 

What  midnight  darkness  does  invade  the  day, 

And  snatch  the  victor  from  his  conquered  prey  ? 

Is  the  sun  weary  of  his  bloody  sight, 

And  winks  upon  us  with  his  eye  of  light? 

'Tis  an  Eclii)se.     This  was  unkind,  0  Moon, 

To  clap  between  me  and  the  i>un  so  soon, 

Foolish  Eclipse  1  thou  this  in  vain  hast  done  ; 

My  brighter  honour  had  eclipsed  the  sun. 

But  now  behold  eclipses  two  in  one,  [^Exii."' 

Bayes  goes  on  to  explain  his  ^^  conceit "  for  represent- 
ing an  eclipse,  the  first  hint  of  which,  he  says,  was 
derived  from  the  dialogue  between  Phoebus  and  Aurora 


238 


THE   MERET    MONAKCH  ; 


in    [Sir    E.     Stapylton's    comedy    of]     "The    SHghted 
Maid  " : — 

"  Bayes. — You  have  heard,  I  suppose,  that  your  eclipse  of  the  Moon  is 
nothing  else  but  an  interposition  of  the  Earth  between  the  Sun  and  Moon  : 
as  likewise  your  eclipse  of  the  Sun  is  caused  by  an  interlocution  of  the  Moon 
betwixt  the  Earth  and  Sun  ? 

Smith. — I  have  heard  so,  indeed. 

Bayes. — Well,  Sir ;  what  do  me  I  but  make  the  Earth,  Sun,  and  Moon, 
come  out  upon  the  Stage,  and  dance  the  Hey  *  hum  f  And,  of  necessity,  by 
the  very  nature  of  tliis  dance,  the  Earth  must  be  sometimes  between  the  Sun 
and  the  Moon,  and  the  Moon  between  the  Earth  and  the  Sun;  and  there  you 
have  both  your  Eclipses.     That  is  new,  I'gad,  ha? 

Johrii^on, — That  must  needs  be  very  fine,  truly. 

Bayes. — Yes,  there  is  some  fancy  in  it.  And  then,  Sir,  that  there  may  be 
something  in  it  of  a  joke,  I  make  the  Moon  sell  the  Earth  a  bargain.  Come, 
come  out.  Eclipse,  to  the  tune  of  Tom  Tyler. 

Enter  LUNA. 
Zuna.—Orhis,  O  Orhis, 

Come  to  me,  thou  little  rogue  Orhis. 

Enter  the  EARTH, 
Orhis. — What  calls  Tcrra-firma  pray? 
Luna. — Luna,  that  liter  ^llilles  by  day. 
Orhis. — What  means  Luna  in  a  veil  ? 
Luna. — Luua  means  to  show  her  tail.f 

Enter  SoL. 
Sol. — Fie,  Fister,  fie  ;  thou  niak\<t  me  muse, 
Derry,  derry  down. 
To  see  tliee,  Orb,  abuse 
Luna. — I  }ioj>e  his  anger  'twill  not  move; 
Since  I  did  it  out  of  love. 

Hey  down,  derry  down. 
Orh. — When  shall  I  thy  true  love  know, 

Thou  i)retty,  pretty  Moon? 
Luna- — To-morrow  soon,  ere  it  be  noon, 
On  ^Mourit  Vesuvius. 
Sol. — Then  I  will  shine. 

»  Hey,  or  Hay :  a  dance  borrowed sfrom  the  French.  In  Sir  John  Davies's 
poem  of  "  The  Orchestra  "  we  read : — 

"  He  taught  them  rounds  and  winding  hays  to  tread." 

t  In  Sir  R.  Stapylton's  *'  Slighted  Maid"  we  read: — 

"  Phesb. — Who  calls  the  world's  great  light? 
Aur. — Aurora,  that  abhors  the  night. 
Pla'h. — Why  does  Aurora,  from  her  cloud. 
To  drowsy  Phoebus  cry  so  loud  ?  '* 


OE,    ENGLAND    XJNDER   CHARLES    II. 


239 


Orh, — And  I  will  be  fine. 
£^^^._And  we  will  drink  nothing  but  Lipary  wine.* 
Omnes. — And  we,  &c.,  &c. 

Bayes. — So,  now,  vanish  Eclipse,  and  enter  t'other  Battle,  and  fight.  Here 
■now,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  will  see  fighting  enough. 

[A  hattle  is  fought  between  foot  and  great  Hohhy-Jiorset.    At  lastf 
DrAWCANSIB  conies  in,  and  hills  'em  all  on  both  sides.     All 
this  while  the  hattle  is  fighting,  Bayes  is  telling  them  when 
to  shout,  and  shouts  with  'em. 
Bra/wc. '"Others  may  boast  a  single  man  to  kill ; 

But  I,  the  blood  of  thousands,  daily  spill. 
Let  i>etty  Kings  the  names  of  Parties  know  : 
Where'er  I  come,  I  slay  both  friend  and  foe. 
The  swiftest  horseman  my  swift  rage  controls. 
And  from  their  bodies  drives  their  trembling  souls. 
If  they  had  wings,  and  to  the  gods  could  liy, 
I  would  pursue,  and  beat  'em  through  the  sky : 
And  make  proud  Jove,  with  all  his  thunder,  see 
This  single  arm  more  dreadful  is  than  he.  [^Exit. 

Bay  ^5.— There's  a  brave  fellow  for  you  now,  Sirs.  I  have  read  of  your  Hector, 
your  Achilles,  and  a  hundred  more;  but  I  defy  all   your  histories,  and  your 
romances  too,  I  gad,  to  sliow  me  one  such  conqueror  as  this  Drawcansir. 
Johnson. — I  swear,  I  think  you  may. 

Smith.— V>\it,  Mr.  Bayes,  how  shall  all  these  dead  men  go  off?  for  I  see 
none  alive  to  help  'em. 

Bayes. — Go  off !  why,  as  they  came  on  ;  upon  their  legs  ;  how  should  they 
go  off?  Why,  do  you  think  the  people  do  not  know  they  arc  not  dead  ?  He 
is  mighty  ignorant,  poor  man  ;  your  friend  here  is  very  silly,  Mr.  Johnson, 
I'gad  he  is.  Come,  Sir,  I'll  show  you  go  off.  Rise,  Sirs,  and  go  about  your 
business.  There's  go  off  for  you.  Hark  you,  Mr.  Ivory. t  Gentlemen,  I'll 
be  with  you  presently.  {ExiU 

Jo/mson.— Will  you  so?     Then  we'll  be  gone. 

Smith. — I,  prithee  let's  go,  that  we  may  preserve  our  hearing.  One  battle 
more  would  take  mine  quite  away.  ^Exeunt, 

Enter  BAYES  and  PLAYERS. 
Bayes. — Where  are  the  gentlemen  ? 
1  Player. — They  are  gone,  Sir. 

Bayes.— Gone  1  'Sdeath,  this  last  Act  is  best  of  all.  Til  go  fetch  'em 
again.  lExit. 

3  Player.StsLj,  here's  a  foul  piece  of  paper  of  his.     Let's  see  what  'tis. 

*  "  What  can  make  our  figures  so  fine? 

Drink,  drink,  Wine  Lippari-wine."— SiR  R.  StapyltoN. 

t  *♦  Abraham  Ivory  had  formerly  been  a  considerable  actor  of  women's 
parts;  but  afterwards  stupified  himself  so  far  with  drinking  strong  waters, 
that,  before  the  first  acting  of  this  farce,  he  was  fit  for  nothing  but  to  go  of 
errands ;  for  whieli,  and  mere  charity,  the  Company  allowed  him  a  weekly 
salary.'' — From  *'  The  Key  to  the  Rehearsal,"  1704. 


240 


THE    MEEEY   MONAECH  ; 


[Reacts.] 

2he  Argument  of  the  Fifth  Act.-C\ov%  at  length,  being  sensible  of 
Prince  Prettyman's  passion,  consents  to  marry  him;  but,  just  as  they  are 
going  to  Church,  Prince  Prettyman  meeting,  by  chance,  with  old  Joan  the 
Chandler's  widow,  and  remembering  it  was  she  that  brought  him  acquainted 
with  Cloris,  out  of  a  high  point  of  honour,  breaks  off  his  match  with  Clons 
and  marries  old  Joan.  Upon  which,  Cloris,  in  despair,  drowns  herself:  and 
Prince  Prettyman,  discontentedly,  walks  by  the  river  side. 

1  Flaver.-Fo^  ont,  this  will  never  do:   tis  just  like  the  rest.  Come,  lets 
^  [Exeunt. 

^  eo°"-  Enter  Bates. 

Bayes.-A  plaguu  on  'em  both  for  me,  they  have  made  me  sweat  to  run 

after 'em.    A  couple  of  sensekes  rascals,  that  had  rather  go  to  dinner     thaa 

see  this  play  out,  with  a  pox  to  'em.    What  comfort  has  a  man  to  write  for 

such  dull  rogues?    Come,  Mr.  -a-     Where  are  you,  Sir?  come  away 

quick,  quick. 

^  Enter  PLAYERS  again. 

Players.— Sit,  they  are  gone  to  dinner. 

BoAjes.-Yes,  1  know  the  Gentlemen  are  gone  ;  but  I  ask  for  the  Players. 

Players.-^hy  an't  please   your  worship,  Sir.  the  Players  are  gone  ta 

dinner  too.  ,     ,_.    .  ., ,   .  +y-_ 

Bave..-How?  are  the  Players  gone  to  Dinner?  Tis  impossible  the 
Players  gone  to  dinner  •  I'gad,  if  they  are,  I'll  make  'em  know  what  i 
is  to  injure  a  person  that  does  'em  the  honour  to  write  for  'em,  and  all 
that.  A  company  of  proud,  conceited,  humorous,  cross-grained  persons,  and 
all  that.  I'gad,  111  make  'em  the  most  contemptible, despicable  inconsider- 
able persons,  and  all  that,  in  the  whole  world  for  this  trick.  I  gad,  1 11  be 
revenged  on -cm,  ni  sfll  this  play  to  the  other  House. 

i.4.r.-Xay,  good  Sir,  dou't  take  away  the  Book ;  youU  disappoint  the 
Town,  that  come,  to  see  it  acted  here,  this  afternoon 

Ba^es.-lh:V.  all  one.  I  must  reserve  tins  comfort  to  myse  f,  my  Book 
and  I  will  go  together,  we  will  not  part,  indeed.  Sir.  The  Town  1  why^  w  a 
Ze  I  for  the  Town  ?  l^ad,  the  Town  has  used  me  as  seurvily  as  the  Playei^ 
We  done-  but  lU  be  revenged  on  them  too:  I  will  both  Lampoon  and 
p't  Jm  t^o.  r,ad.  Since  they  will  not  admit  of  my  Plays,  they  shall  know 
what  altiri:!  Ian..     And  so  farewell  to  this  Stage  for  ever,  I'gad.     iE^t. 

^  Plaver  —What  shall  we  do  now  ? 

2  Player-con.,  then,  let's  set  up  Bills  for  another  Play  :  We  shall  lose 

nnthinir  bv  this,  I  warrant  you. 

1  pTair.-I  am  of  your  opinion.  But,  before  we  go,  let's  see  Haynes  and 
Shirley  practic.  the  last  Dance  ;  for  that  may  serve  for  another  Play. 

2  Aai/er.-V\i  call  'em :  I  think  they  are  in  tlie  tyring-room. 

The  Dance  done. 
1  Player.-Come,  come  ;  let's  go  away  to  diuner.  lExeunt  Omnes." 

*  The  fa^iionable  time  of  dining,  when  this  play  was  77«<^".  ^-J^^"*'^^ 
o-clo^.  '■11^''  Rehearsal "  is,  therefore,  supposed  to  take  place  in  the 
morning. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


241 


*^  The  Eehearsal ''  is  Buckingliam's  chief  literary  work ; 
but  he  was  also  the  author  of  a  farce  entitled  "  The  Battle 
of  Sedgraoore,"  which  possesses  no  claim  on  the  attention 
of  posterity,  and  he  adapted  from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher 
the  comedy  of  "  The  Chances."  His  unquestionable  talent 
is  seen  to  some  advantage  in  the  religious  tracts  which  he 
wrote  in  his  maturer  years.     In  these  he  argues  with  con- 
siderable vigour  for  entire  freedom  of  conscience  as  the 
surest  safeguard  for  the  principles  of  the  Reformation ; 
and  seeks   to   demonstrate  the   truth   of  the   Christian 
religion  by  ingenious  logical  conclusions."^ 

Buckingham's  political  career  is  a  part  of  the  history 
of  his  time,  and  cannot,  therefore,  be  examined  in  these 
pages.      He  carried  into  it  his  characteristic  levity ;  but 
liad  he  combined  with  his  brilliant  parts  a  steady  resolu- 
tion and  a  calm  judgment,  with  reticence  of  speech  and 
tenacity  of  purpose,  he  might  surely  have  taken  a  fore- 
most place  among  English  statesmen.     Unfortunately  he 
touched  nothing  which  his  wayward  temper  did  not  mar, 
and  he  took  up  politics  not  as  a  serious  business,  but  as  a 
gamester's  speculation,  not  with  any  regard  for  the  in- 
terests of  his  country,  but  either  as  a  means  of  increasing 
his  personal  influence  or  gratifying  his  spirit  of  adven- 
ture.    In  1666  we  find  him  intriguing  against  Clarendon, 
and  playing  with  projects  which  verged  close  upon  the 
borders  of  treason.      Though  detected,  and  deprived  of 
all   his   commissions,    in   the    following    year   he   again 
basked  in  the  sunshine  of  the  royal  favour.     After  dis- 
charging with  some  success   an  embassy  to  the  French 
Court,  he  was  gratified  by  the  downfall  of  Clarendon,  and 
took  the  lead  in  the  council  of  Ministers  to  which  was 
appUed  the  famous  epithet  of  "  The   Cabal  "  from  the 

#  "  Discourse  upon  Reasonableness  of  Men's  having  a  Religion." 
VOL.  II.  ^ 


242 


THE    MEEKX"   MONARCH. 


initials  of  its  principal  members,  Clifford,  Arlington, 
Buckingham,  Ashley,  Lauderdale.  In  1672  he  was  again 
sent  on  an  embassy  to  Louis  XIY.,  who  was  then  at 
Utrecht.  Landing  at  the  Hague,  he  had  an  interview 
with  the  Princess  of  Orange.  Eulogizing  with  his  usual 
fluent  eloquence  the  admirable  qualities  of  the  Dutch,  he 
referred  to  the  deep  interest  which  England  felt  in  the 
prosperity  of  the  Commonwealth.  "We  do  not  use 
Holland  like  a  mistress,"  he  said,  "  we  love  her  as  a 
wife."  "  Aye,  in  truth,"  replied  the  Princess,  "  I  believe 
you  love  us  as  you  love  your  own." 

On  the  death  of  Charles  II.,  Buckingham  retired  from 
Court  and  from  public  life,  and  spent  the  brief  remainder 
of  his  wasted  years  on  his  Yorkshire  estate.    He  died  on 
the  16th  of  April,  1688,  after  a  three  days'  i'.lness.     Hav- 
ing over-heated  himself  while  hunting,  he  sat  down  on 
the  wet  grass,  and  the  result  was  a  violent  inflammation 
which  his  enfeebled  constitution  was  unable  to  withstand. 
His  last  breath  was  not  drawn,  as  Pope  represents,  "  in 
the  worst  inn's  worst  room,"  but  in  the  house  of  one  of 
his  own  tenants  at  Kirby-Moorside;  and  the  Earl  of  Arran, 
Lord  Fairfax,  and  others,  stood  by  his  death-bed.     He 
professed  himself  at  the  last  a  member  of  the  Church  of 
England,  and  received  the  Sacrament,  according  to  the 
Anglican  rite,  "with  all  the  decency  imaginable."     His 
body,  having  been  embalmed,  was  removed  to  Westminster 
Abbey.   The  principal  authority  for  the  private  life  of  the 
Duke  is  Brian  Fairfax.     In  almost  all  the  histories  and 
correspondence  of  his  time,  he  necessarily  figures ;  and  his 
character  has  been  drawn  by  Bishop  Burnet,  Warburton, 
Butler,  Walpole,  Macaulay,  Scott,  Count  Hamilton,  Dry- 
den,  and  Pope.     A  brief  but  interesting  memoir  occurs  in 
Mr.  J.  Heneage  Jesse's  "  England  under  the  Stuaiis." 


THE  PEOSE  WEITEES. 


Bishop  Jeremy  Taylor. 
Dr.  Eobert  South. 
Dr.  Isaac  Barrow. 
Bishop  Beveridge. 
Dr.  Ralph  Cudworth. 
Benjamin  Whichcote. 
John  Bunyan. 
Thomas  Hobbes. 

Abraham  Cowley. 
IzAAK  Walton. 

John  Dryden. 

Sir  William  Temple. 

Thomas  Eymer. 

Dr.  Henry  More. 

Valentine  Greatrakes. 

Dr.  Theophilus  Gale. 

James  Harrington. 

Sir  Robert  Pilmer. 

Bishop  Cumberland. 


Bishop  Wilkins. 
Bishop  Sprat. 
Earl  op  Clarendon. 
Bishop  Burnet. 
Anthony  a  Wood. 
Sir  William  Dugdale. 
Elias  Ashmole. 
Archbishop  Leighton. 
Bishop  Ken. 
Richard  Baxter. 
George  Fox. 
William  Penn. 
Sir  Roger  L'Estrange. 
Robert  Boyle. 
John  Ray. 
Thomas  Sydenham. 
Sir  Isaac  Newton. 
Sir  Thomas  Browne. 


CHAPTEE  V. 

THE    PROSE    WRITERS    OF    THE    RESTORATION. 

Bishop  Jeremy  Taylor— Dr.  Eobert  SorTH— Dr.  Isaac 
Barrow— Bishop  Beveridge — Dr.  Ralph  Cudworth 

Benjamin  Whichcote  —  John  Bunyan  —  Thomas 

Hobbes— Abraham  Cowley— Izaak  Walton— John 
Dryden— Sir  William  Temple — Thomas  Rymer — 
Dr.  Henry  More— Valentine  Greatrakes— Dr. 
Theophilus  Gale — James  Harrington — Sir  Robert 
FiLMER—  Bishop  Cumberland  —  Bishop  Wilkins  — 
Bishop  Sprat — Earl  of  Clarendon — Bishop  Burnet 

Anthony  a  Wood — Sir  William  Dugdale — Elias 

AsHMOLE — Archbishop  Leighton — Bishop  Ken — ■ 
Richard  Baxter— George  Fox— William  Penn  — 
Sir  Roger  L'Estrange— Robert  Boyle — John  Ray 
—  Thomas  Sydenham  —  Sir  Isaac  Newton  —  Sib 
Thomas  Browne. 

Charles  II.  had  been  seven  years  on  the  throne  when 
Jeremy  Taylor  died.     Chronologically,  therefore,  we  may. 
claim  the  English  Chrysostom  as  one  of  the  Prose  Writers 
of  the  Restoration  ;  but,  with  a  single  exception,  his  great 
works  had  all  been  written  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  or 
during  the  Commonwealth,  and  in  style  they  are  related 
to  those  of  the  Elizabethan  rather  than  to  those  of  the 
Caroline  school.    The  exception  is  his  great  treatise  on 
casuistical  divinity,  the  "  Ductor  Dubitantium  "  on  which 
he  himself  based   his  hopes  of  fame.      This  was  issued  in 
the  year  of  the  Restoration;    and  in  the  same  year  he 
published  his  tractate   on  the   Lord's    Supper,   entitled, 
''  The  Worthy  Communicant,"  and  received  his  episcopal 
preferment.     His  sermon,    "  Yia  Intelligentiae,"  was  pub- 
lished in  1662.      Also,  the  three  sermons  which  he  dedi- 
cated to  the  Duchess  of  Ormond;   and  the  ''Dissuasive 


246 


THE    MEEEY   MONARCH  ; 


from  Poperj/'  which  lie  wrote  at  the  request  of  the 
Irish  Bishops.  On  the  strength  of  these  post-Eestoration 
publications^  we  include  the  great  bishop  in  our  list  of 
"  Worthies,"  thankful  that  the  lustre  of  his  name  lights 
up  the  dark  pages  of  Charles's  reign. 

Jeremy  Taylor,  who,  by  the  consent  of  all,  ranks  as  the 
greatest  orator  the  English  Church  has  produced,  was  the 
son  of  a  Cambridge  barber,  or  barber-surgeon,  and  first 
saw  the  light  in  his  father's  house  about  the  13th  of 
August,  1613.  He  came  of  a  reputable  family,  which  for 
generations  had  held  lands  in  Gloucestershire,  but  had 
been  reduced  to  honourable  poverty  after  the  martyrdom 
of  Dr.  Kowland  Taylor,*  the  courageous  and  learned 
rector  of  Hadleigh,  by  the  confiscation  of  his  estates. 

The  barber,  or  barber-surgeon,  had  education  enough  to 
be  able  to  ground  his  son,  as  the  son  informs  us,  "in 
grammar  and  the  mathematics."  At  the  early  age  of 
three  he  had  begun  to  attend  Parse's  Grammar  School, 
then  recently  founded ;  and  it  was  probably  some  indica- 
tions of  more  than  ordinary  capacity  which  led  his  father 
to  enter  him,  when  only  thirteen  years  of  age,  at  Caius 
College,  in  the  University  of  his  native  town,  as  a  "  poor 
scholar."  It  is  pleasant  to  remember  that  he  was  the 
contemporary  of  John  Milton,  who  entered  Christ's  College 
in  1625,  and  it  is  not  an  unreasonable  conjecture  that 
sympathy  of  tastes  and  intellectual  power  united  in 
friendly  relations  the  future  author  of  "  Holy  Living  and 
Dying"  and  the  future  poet  of  the  "Paradise  Lost." 
"  Though  in  after  life,"  remarks  Prebendary  Humphreys, 
'^a  wide  gulf  was  interposed  between  the  poet  and 
the  divine,  the  one  becoming  secretary  to  the  Pro- 
tector,   the    other    chaplain    to     the     King,     at    this 

*  In  the  third  year  of  Queen  Mary." 


OR,  ENGLAT4D  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


247 


time    they  might  be  friendly   opponents  in  the   dreary 
exercises  of  the  schools  ;  they  might  well  be  companions 
in  lighter  and  more  congenial  studies ;  they  might  go  up 
to  the  house  of  God  together  ;  they  might  be  compared 
for  their  poetical  temperament,  for  their  love  of  ancient 
learning,  for  the  beauty  of  their  souls,  and  for  their  out- 
ward  comeliness."     During  his  University  career  Taylor 
must  also  have   heard  of  George  Herbert,  the   "  sweet 
singer  "  of  ''  The  Temple ;  "  nor  is  it  unlikely  that  he  was 
familiar   with  the   name   of   Oliver   Cromwell,   then   an 
undergraduate  of  Sidney  Sussex  College. 

The"  course  of  study  then  in  vogue  at  Cambridge  was 
not  adapted   to   develop  Taylor's  imaginative  faculties. 
His  Alma  Mater  did  not  nourish  him   with   satisfying 
food;  she  was  still  teaching  that  old  scholastic  philosophy 
which  Bacon  censured  for  its  "unprofitable  subtlety  and 
curiosity,"  while  Millar  characterised  its  "  ragged  notions 
and  brabblements  "  as  "  an   asinine  feast  of  sow-thistles 
and  brambles."   Duns  Scotus  and  Avicenna  still  perplexed 
their  students  with  intricate  speculations  and  vain  hypo- 
theses.    To  a  genius  so  subtle  as  Taylor's  it  was  easy, 
perhaps,  to  detect  some   grains  of  gold  even   in   sandy 
wastes  of  Ockham,  Lauretus,  and  Suarez ;    but  we  can 
fancy  with  what  delight  he  turned  from  this  disappoint- 
ing pursuit  to  the  study  of  the  great  masters  of  the  Greek 
and  Roman  literature. 

In  1631  Taylor  took  his  Bachelor's  degree,  and  soon 
afterwards  was  elected  to  a  Pellowship.  Before  proceed- 
ing  to  his  degree  of  M.A.  he  received  holy  orders,  though, 
like  the  illustrious  Usher,  he  wanted  two  years  of 
the  canonical  age  of  twenty-three.  He  quickly 
became  celebrated  for  his  pulpit  eloquence  ;  but  his 
future  career  seems  to  have  been  decided  by  one  of  those 


248 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


opportunities  which  always  occur  to  men  capable  of  mak- 
ing use  of  them.     At  the  request  of  a  college  friend  he 
preached  for  him  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral ;  where  by  his 
*^  florid  and  youthful  beauty,  his  sweet  and  pleasant   air, 
and  his  sublime  and   learned  discourses/'  he  at  once  se- 
cured the  attention  of  the  ])ublic.     They  took  him,  says 
Bishop  Enst^  for  some  yoiim;'  angel,  newly  descended  from 
the  visions  of  glory.     The  repute  of  his  great  excellence 
as  a  preacher  soon  spread  to  Lambeth ;  and  Archbishop 
Laud,  who,  whatever  his  faults  and  failings,  was  always 
quick  in  the  detection  and  recognition  of  merit,  summoned 
him  to  preach  before  him.     The  singular  2)romise  of  the 
brilliant  young  genius  lie  at  once   acknowledged;    and 
thinking  it  more  to  the  advantage  of  the  world  that  such 
mighty  parts  should  be  afforded  better  opi)ortunities  of 
study  and  improvement  than  a  course  of  constant  preach- 
ing would  allow  of,  he  secured  for  him  the  nomination  to 
a  fellowship  of   All  Souls,  Oxford — a   distinction  of  no 
ordinary  kind,  wliieh  carried  with  it,  moreover,  a  consider- 
able income.     During  liis  residence  at  Oxford  the  sweet 
courtesy  of  his  manners  and  the  wide  range  of  his  powers 
made  him  the  object  of  general  esteem  and  admiration. 
(1635-7).     In   1637,  Bishop  Juxon,  at  the  instigation  of 
the  Primate,  promoted  the  splendid  young  divine  to  the 
rectory  of  Uppingham,  in  Rutlandshire.     In  the  following 
year,  he   was  selected  to  preach  at  St.  Mary's,  in  that 
famous  pulpit  since  occupied  by  so  many  illustrious  men ; 
and  in  connection  with  the  sermon  wliich  he  preached  on 
that  occasion  old  Anthony  a  Wood  tells  a  strange  story  of 
Taylor's  intended  secession  to  the  Eoman  Church,  affirm- 
ing that  the  Yice-Chancellor  interpolated  certain  passages 
in  the  sermon  with  the  view  of  inducingr  the  Eomanists  to 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


249 


reject  his  advances.  As  if  Taylor  would  have  adopted 
such  interpolations !  The  whole  fabrication  was  sug- 
gested probably  by  Taylor's  intimacy  with  the  learned 
Franciscan,  A  Sancta  Clara,  the  queen's  chaplain.  In 
Jeremy  Taylor's  writings  ample  evidence  exists  of  his 
strong  repudiation  of  the  erroneous  doctrines  of  Eome ; 
and  that  he  did  not  favour  the  Roman  discipline  was  de- 
monstrated by  his  marriage,  on  the  27th  of  May,  1639,  to 
Pha3be  Landisdale.  By  this  lady  lie  had  three  sons,  one 
of  whom,  William,  died  in  May,  1(342,  and  was  soon  after- 
wards  followed  to  the  grave  by  his  mother. 

At   Uppingham,    Jeremy   Taylor   spent   five   years   in 
peaceful  seclusion,  until  the  storm  and  stress  of  civil  war 
broke  over  the  country.     He  must  have  felt  very  keenly 
the  committal  of  his  friend  and  patron,  Archbishop  Laud, 
to  the  Tower  (in  1640),  and  he  no  doubt  accepted  it  as  a 
sign  and  a  warning  of  sorrowful  days  darkening  over  the 
afflicted  Church.     He  did  not  hesitate  as  to  the  side  it 
was  his  duty  to  support ;  and  when,  after  the  final  rupture 
between  Charles  and  his  Parliament,  the  King  retired  to 
Oxford,  Taylor  hastened  thither  to  join  him,  and  was 
appointed  his  domestic  chaplain.     It  was  by  the  royal 
command   that   he   published,   in    1642,   his   first   work, 
''  Episcopacy  Asserted,'^  in  which  he  presents  with  great 
force  and  clearness  the  arguments  in  favour  of  the  epis- 
copal government  of  the  Church.     Charles  rewarded  the 
author  with  the  diploma  of  Doctor  of  Divinity.       His 
learned    manifesto    aroused    much    enthusiasm     among 
Churchmen  ;   being   "  backed  and   encouraged   by  many 
petitions  to   His  Majesty,  and   both  Houses  of   Parlia- 
ment, not  only  from  the  two  Universities  whom  it  most 
concerned,  but  from  several  counties  of  the  Kingdom. 


250 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


It  is  uncertain  whether  he  joined  the  Eojal  army  at 
Nottingham ;  but  his  living  at  Uppingham  was  seques- 
trated in  the  earliest  months  of  the  Civil  War ;  his  rectory- 
house  was  plundered  and  despoiled;  and  his  family  ex- 
pelled. In  these  circumstances  he  was  free  to  follow  the 
King  in  his  various  inarches  ;  and  it  is  noticeable  that  he 
gathered  a  knowledge  of  military  affairs  which  afterwards 
provided  him  in  his  sermons  with  numerous  forcible 
illustrations :  He  accompanied  the  royal  army  to  Wales 
in  the  beginning  of  16GI;  and  at  the  siege' of  Cardigan 
Castle  was  taken  prisoner.  With  the  treatment  he 
received  he  had,  however,  no  fault  to  find.  He  was 
speedily  released;  and  then  for  some  time  gained  a 
laborious  livelihood  as  a  schoolmaster  at  Llanvihansrel 
Aberbythic.  '^  In  this  great  storm,"  he  writes  to  Lord 
Halton,  ''which  hath  dashed  the  vessel  of  the  Church  all 
to  pieces,  I  have  been  cast  upon  the  coast  of  Wales,  and, 
in  a  little  boat,  thought  to  have  enjoyed  that  rest  and 
quietness  which,  in  Englan-l,  in  a  greater,  I  could  not 
hope  for.  Here  I  cast  anchor,  and  thinking  to  ride 
safely,  the  storm  followed  on  with  so  impetuous  violence 
that  it  broke  a  cablo,  a:i  1  I  lost  my  anchor  ;  and  here 
again  I  was  exposed  to  the  mercy  of  the  sea,  and  the 
gentleness  of  an  element  that  could  neither  distinguish 
things  nor  persons.  And  but  that  He  Who  stilleth  the 
raging  of  the  sea  and  the  noise  of  His  waves,  and  the 
madness  of  His  people,  had  provided  a  plank  for  me,  I 
had  been  lost  to  all  the  opportunities  of  content  or  study. 
But  I  know  not  whetlier  1  have  been  more  preserved  by 
the  courtesies  of  my  fri'Mids,  or  the  gentleness  and  mercies 
of  a  noble  enemy  ;  for  '  the  barbarous  people  showed  us  no 
little  kindness ;  for,  having  kindled  a  fire,  they  received  us 
all  because  of  the  present  rain  and  the  cold.*     And  now 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


251 


since  I  have  come  ashore,  I  have  been  gathering  a  few 
sticks  to  warm  me ;  a  few  books  to  entertain  my  thoughts, 
and  divert  them  from  the  perpetual  meditation  of  my 
private  troubles  and  the  public  dyscrasy ;  but  those  which 
I  could  obtain  were  so  few  and  so  impertinent,  and 
unuseful  to  any  great  purposes,  that  I  began  to  be  sad 
upon  a  new  stock,  and  full  of  apprehension  that  I  should 
live  unprofitably,  and  die  obscurely,  and  be  forgotten,  and 
my  bones  thrown  into  some  common  charnel-house,  with- 
out any  name  or  note  to  distinguish  me  from  those  who 
only  served  their  generation  by  filling  the   number    of 

citizens.** 

It  was  about  this  time  that  he  found  a  second  wife  in  a 
Mistress  Joanna  Bridges,  a  lady  of  good  means,  reputed 
to  have  been  an  illegitimate  daughter  of  Charles  I.  ;  and 
a  friend  in  Lord  Carbery,  whose  seat  of  Golden  Grove  was 
situated    in   the   vicinity    of    Taylor's   pleasant   retreat. 
Another  and  still  more  valuable  friend  was  the  learned, 
pious,  and  liberal-handed  John  Evelyn.     He   continued 
to    carry   on    his    school,  assisted  by    William  Nicolson, 
afterwards  Bishop  of    Gloucester,  and   William   Wyatt, 
afterwards  Prebendary  of  Lincoln.     For  the  use  of  their 
scholars  Taylor   and    Wyatt    composed   a   "  Grammar,** 
which   was   published    in    1647.      And   though  he   was 
without  books,  "  except  so  many,*'  he  says,  "  as  a  man 
may  carry  on  horseback,"  it  was  now  that  he  wrote  his 
great  work,  "The  Liberty  of  Prophesying,"  in  which  he 
proposes   to   enlarge   the   limits   of    comprehension   and 
narrow  the  bounds  of  controversy  by  the  adoption  of  the 
Apostles'    Creed    as    the    standard    and    exposition    of 
Evangelical  Truth— a  proposition  similar,  as  Melissom  re- 
marks, to  one  put  forward  by  Erasmus.    He  who  traces  its 
close-linked  reasoning,  observes  its  fertility  of  allusion,. 


252 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


and  warms  himself  in  the  glow  and  fervour  of  its  poeti- 
cal  imagery,    will   surely  join    in   the  admiration   with 
which  Coleridge  always  regarded  it.    In  itself  it  justifies 
his    eulogy  of   its    author    as    "the    most    eloquent   of 
divines,    I    had   almost   said,   of   men;    and  if  I   had, 
Demosthenes    would  nod   approval    and   Cicero   express 
assent."     Bishop  Heber  says:— "On  a  work  so  rich  in 
intellect,    so   renowned    for    charity,    which    contending 
sects  have  rivalled  each  other  in  approving,  and  which 
was    the    first,    perhaps,     since     the    earliest    days    of 
Christianity,    to    teach    those   among   whom    differences 
were  inevitable,  the  art  of  differing  harmlessly,  it  would 
be   almost   impertinent    to   enlarge    in    commendation." 
Had  he  written  no  other  book,  the  Christian  Church,  as 
Canon  Farrar  remarks,  would  have  owed  him  a  debt  that 
could   never   be   repaid.     The    grand   cause   of  religious 
tolerance  has  had  no  mightier  champion  ;  and  though  his 
attack  failed  in  its  immediate  object,  it  eventually  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing  religious  freedom  on  an  impreg- 
nable basis. 

In  plan  this  famous  treatise  is  exceedingly  simple. 
Taking  the  Apostles'  Creed  as  embodying  the  principal 
articles  of  the  Christian  faith,  he  declares  that  all  subsi- 
diary dogmas  are  superfluous  or  indifferent,  and  not  to  be 
required  of  believers  as  indispensable  to  their  salvation. 
This  bold  position,  Taylor,  with  some  slight  misgivings 
when  vexed  by  the  uncompromising  hostility  of  Irish  Pres- 
byterianism,  maintained  throughout  his  life.  "  I  thouo-ht ," 
he  wrote  in  his  Epistle  Dedicatory,  "  it  might  not  misbe- 
come my  duty  and  endeavours  to  plead  for  peace  and 
charity  and  forgiveness  and  permissions  mutual;  although 
I  had  reason  to  believe  that,  such  is  the  iniquity  of  men, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


253 


and  they  so  indisposed   to   receive  real   impresses,  that 
I  had  as   good    plough    the    sands,    or    till    the    air,  as 
persuade  such  doctrines    which   destroy  men's  interests, 
and  serve  no  end  but  the  great  end  of  a  happy  eternity, 
and  what  is  in  order  to  it.     But  because  the  events  of 
things  are  in  God's  disposition,  and  I  knew  them  not— 
and  because,  if  I  had  known,  my  good  purposes  would 
be  totally  as  ineffectual  as  to  others— yet  my  own  desig- 
nation and  purpose   would   be    of    advantage  to  myself, 
who  might,  from    God's    mercy,    expect  the  retribution 
which  He  is    pleased   to    promise   to   all   pious   intend- 
ments ;  I  resolved  to  encounter  with  all  objections,  and 
to  do  something  to  each.     I  should  be  determined  by  the 
consideration  of  the  present  distemperatures  and  necessi- 
ties, by  my  own  thoughts,  by  the  questions  and  scruples, 
the  sects  and  names,  the  interests  and  animosities,  which 
at  this  day,  and  for  some  years  past,  have  exercised  and 
disquieted  Christendom.'^ 

We  have  not  at  our  command  adequate  space  to  unfold 
the  various  links  of  the  chain  of  argument  which  he  has 
wrought  out  of  the  purest  gold,  and  embellished  with  the 
most  precious  stones.  But  we  may  venture  to  introduce  a 
specimen  or  two  of  his  style  and  method,  which,  we  hope, 
will  send  the  reader  to  study  the  original,  if  haply  he  be 
unacquainted  with  it.  The  essence  of  his  reasoning,  or, 
perhaps,  we  should  rather  say,  the  aim  and  motive  of 
it,  may  be  seen  in  the  following  most  beautiful  parable, 
or  allegory,  which  comes  from  the  Persian  poet  Saadi, 
through    the    medium    of     Grotius    in    his    "  Historia 

Judaica  " : — 

"  When  Abraham  sat  at  his  tent  door,  according  to  his 
custom,  waiting  to  entertain  strangers,  he  espied  an  old 


254 


THE    MEREY    MONARCH; 


man  stooping  and  leaning  on  his  staff,  weary  with  age 
and  travail,  coming  towards  him,  who  was  an  hundred 
jears  of  age.  He  received  him  kindly,  washed  his  feet, 
provided  supper,  caused  him  to  sit  down,  but  observing 
that  the  old  man  sat  and  prayed  not,  nor  begged  for  a 
blessing  on  his  meat,  he  asked  him  why  he  did  not  wor- 
ship the  God  of  heaven.  The  old  man  told  him  that  he 
worshipped  the  fire  only,  and  acknowledged  no  other  God. 
At  which  answer  Abraham  grew  so  zealously  angry  that 
he  thrust  the  old  man  out  of  his  tent,  and  exposed  him  to 
all  the  evils  of  the  night  in  an  unguarded  condition. 
When  the  old  man  was  gone,  God  called  to  Abraham,  and 
asked  him  where  the  stranger  was.  He  replied,  "  I  thrust 
him  away  because  he  did  not  worship  Thee."  God 
answered  him,  "  I  have  suffered  him  these  hundred  years, 
althou^^h  he  dishonoured  Me ;  and  couldst  not  thou  en- 
dure  him  one  night,  when  he  gave  thee  no  trouble?" 
Tpon  this,  saith  the  story,  Abraham  fetched  him  back 
again,  and  gave  him  hospitable  entertainment  and  wise  in- 
struction. "  Go  thou  and  do  likewise,"  adds  Taylor, 
"  and  thy  charity  will  be  rewarded  by  the  God  of 
Abraham." 

That  generous  breadth  of  sympathy  and  that  fine  spirit 
of  liberal  piety  which  inspired  our  great  English  divine 
are  seen  in  his  remarks  on  the  practice  of  Christian 
Churches  towards  persons  who  do  not  accept  their  formu- 
laries. 

"  In  St.  Paul's  time,"  he  says,  "  though  the  manner  of 
heretics  were  not  so  loose  and  forward  as  afterwards,  and 
all  that  were  called  heretics  were  clearly  such  and  highly 
criminal,  yet,  as  their  crime  was,  so  was  their  censure,  that 
is,  spiritual.  They  were  first  admonished,  once  at  least, 
for  so  Irenseus,  Tertullian,  Cyprian,  Ambrose,  and  Jerome, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


255 


read  that  place  of  Titus  iii.     But  since  that  time  all  men, 
and  at  that  time  some  read  it,  '  after  a  first  and  second 
admonition,'  reject  a  heretic.     '  Rejection  from  the  com- 
munity of  saints  after  two  warnings,'  that  is  the  penalty. 
St.   John  expresses   it  by  not  'eating  with  them,'  not 
^  bidding  them  God  speed,'  but  the  persons  against  whom 
be  decrees  so  severely,  are  such  as  denied  Christ  to  be 
come  in  the  flesh,  direct  Antichrists.  And  let  the  sentence 
be  as  high  as  it  lists  in  this  case,  all  that  I  observe  is,  that 
since   in   so   damnable    doctrines   nothing   but   spiritual 
censure,  separation  from  the  communion  of  the  faithful 
was   enjoined  and  prescribed,  we   cannot  pretend  to  an 
Apostolical    precedent,    if    in    matters    of    dispute   and 
innocent   questions,   and    of    great    uncertainty   and   no 
malignity,  we  shall  proceed  to  sentence  of  death. 

"Well,   however  zealous    the    Apostles   were   against 
heretics,  yet  none  were  by  them,  or  their  dictates,  put  to 
death.      The  death  of   Ananias  and  Sapphira,  and  the 
blindness  of  Elymas  the  sorcerer,  amount  not  to  this,  fyr 
they   were   miraculous   inflictions,  and  the    first   was    a 
punishment  to  vow-breach  and  sacrilege,  the  second   of 
sorcery   and   open   contestation   against   the  religion  of 
Jesus  Christ ;  neither  of  them  concerned  the  case  of  this 
present   question.      Or  if  the   case  were  the  same,  yet 
the  authority  is  not  the  same  ;  for  he  that  inflicted  these 
punishments  was  infallible,  and  of  a  power  competent,  bat 
no  man  at  this  day  is  so.     But  as  yet  people  were  not 
converted  by  miracles,  and  preaching,  and  disputing,  and 
heretics  by  the  same  means  were  endangered,  and  all  men 
instructed,  none  tortured  for   their   opinion.     And  this 
continued  till  Christian  people  were  vexed  by  disagreeing 
persons,  and  were  impatient  and  peevish  by  their  own 
too  much    confidence,   and   the  luxuriancy  of    a    pros- 


256 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


perous  fortune  ;  but  then  they  would  not  endure  persons 
that  did  dogmatize  anything  which  might  intrench  upon 
their  reputation  or  their  interest.  And  it  is  observable 
that  no  man  nor  no  age  did  ever  teach  the  lawfulness  of 
putting  heretics  to  death,  till  they  grew  wanton  with 
prosperity;  but  when  the  reputation  of  the  governors 
was  concerned,  when  the  interests  of  men  were  en- 
dangered, when  they  had  something  to  lose,  when  they 
had  built  their  estimation  upon  the  credit  of  disputable 
questions,  when  they  began  to  be  jealous  of  other  men, 
when  they  overvalued  themselves  and  their  own  opinions, 
when  some  persons  invaded  bishoprics  upon  pretence  of 
new  opinions,  when  they,  as  they  thrive  in  the  favour  of 
emperors,  and  in  the  success  of  their  disputes,  solicited 
the  temporal  power  to  banish,  to  fine,  to  imprison,  and  to 
kill,  their  adversaries. 

"  So  that  the  case  stands  thus  :  In  the  best  times,  among 
the  best  men,  when  there  were  fewer  temporal  ends  to  be 
served,  when  religion  and  the  pure  and  simple  designs  of 
Christianity  only  were  to  be  promoted,  in  those  times  and 
amongst  such  men  no  persecution  was  actual  nor  per- 
suaded, nor  allowed  towards  disagreeing  persons.  But  as 
men  had  ends  of  their  own  and  not  of  Christ,  as  they 
receded  from  their  duty,  and  religion  from  its  purity,  as 
Christianity  began  to  be  compounded  with  interests  and 
blended  with  temporal  designs,  so  men  were  persecuted 
for  their  opinions." 

Admirable  both  in  thought  and  expression  is  the  follow.. 


mg  :- 


C( 


As  it  was  true  of  the  martyrs,  as  often  as  we  die,  so 
often  we  are  born,  and  the  increase  of  their  troubles  was 
the  increase  of  their  confidence  and  the  establishment  of 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


257 


their  persuasions ;  so  it  is  in  all  false  opinions  ;  for  that 
an  opinion  is  true  or  false  is  extrinsical  or  accidental  to 
the  consequents  and  advantages  it  gets  by  being  afflicted. 
And  there  is  a  popular  pity  that  follows  all  persons  in 
misery,  and  that  compassion  breeds  likeness  of  affections, 
and  that  very  often  produces  likeness  of  persuasion ;  and 
so  much  the  rather  because  there  arises  a  jealousy  and 
pregnant  suspicion  that  they  who  persecute  an  opinion  are 
destitute  of  sufficient  arguments  to  confute  it,  and  that 
the  hangman  is  the  best  disputant.     For  if  those  argu- 
ments which  they  have  for  their  own  doctrine,  were  a 
sufficient  ground  of  confidence  and  persuasion,  men  would 
be  more  willing  to  use  those  means  and  arguments,  which 
are  better  compliances  with  human  understanding,  which 
more  naturally  do  satisfy  it,  which  are  more  human  and 
Christian,   than   that  way  which   satisfies   none,  which 
destroys  many,  which  provokes  more,  and  which  makes  all 
men  jealous.     To  which  add,  that  those  who  die  for  their 
opinion  have  in  all  men  great  arguments  of  the  hearti- 
ness of  their  belief,  of  the  confidence  of  their  persuasion, 
of  the  piety  and  innocency  of  their  persons,  of  the  purity 
of  their  intention  and  simplicity  of  purposes,  that  they 
are  persons  totally  disinterested,  and  separate  from  design. 
For  no  interest  can  be  so  great  as  to  be  put  in  balance 
against  a  man's  life  and  his  soul ;  and  he  does  very  im- 
prudently  serve  his  ends,  who,  simply  and  foreknowingly, 
loses  his  life  in  the  persuasion  of  them.      Just  as  if  Titus 
should  offer  to  die  for  Sempronius  upon  condition  he  might 
receive  twenty  talents  when  he  had  done  his  work.     It  is 
certainly  an  argument  of  a  great  love,  and  a  great  confi- 
dence, and  a  great  sincerity,  and  a  great  hope,  when  a  man 
lays  down  his  life  in  attestation  of  a  proposition.  '  Greater 


VOL.   II. 


S 


258 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


love  tlian  tliis  liath  no  man,  tlian  to  laj  down  liis  life/ 
saith  our  blessed  Saviour.     And  altliougli  laying  of  a 
wager  is  an  argument  of  confidence  more  than  truth ;  yet 
laying  such  a  wager,  staking  of  a  man's  soul,  and  pawning 
his  life,  give  a  hearty  testimony  that  the  person  is  honest, 
confident,  resigned,  charitable,  and  noble.     And  I  know 
not  whether  truth   can  do   a   person   or  a   cause  more 
advantages  than  those  can  do  to  an  error.     And,  there- 
fore,  besides  the  impiety,  there  is  great  imprudence  in 
canonizing  a  heretic,  and  consecrating  an  error  by  such 
means,  which  were  better  preserved  as  encouragements  of 
truth  and  comforts  to  real  and  true  martyrs.     And  it  is 
not  amiss  to  observe,  that  this  very  advantage  was  given 
by  heretics,  who  were    ready   to  show  and  boast  their 
catalogues  of   martyrs;  in  paiiicular  the  Circumcillinis 
did  so,  and  the  Donatists;  and  yet  the  first  were  heretics, 
the  second  schismatics.     And  it  was  remarkable  in  the 
scholars  of  Priscillian,  who,  as  they  held  their  master  in 
the  reputation  of  a  saint  while  he  was  living,  so,  when  he 
was  dead,  they  held  him  in  veneration  as  a  martyr ;  they, 
with  reverence  and  devotion,  carried  him  and  the  bodies 
of  his  slain   companions  to  an  honourable  sepulture,  and 
counted  it  religion  to  swear  by  the  name  of  Priscillian. 
So  that  the  extinguishing  of  the  person  gives  life  and 
credit  to  his  doctrine,  and  when  he  is  dead,  he  yet  speaks 
more  effectually .'' 

That  is  a  fine  saying  of  Taylor's,  that  God  places  a 
watery  cloud  in  the  eye,  so  that  when  the  light  of  heaven 
shines  on  it  it  may  produce  a  rainbow  to  be  a  sacrament 
and  a  memorial  that  God  and  the  sons  of  men  do  not  love 
to  see  a  man  perish.  Such  rainbows  often  shone  across 
the  clouds  of  Taylor's  life.     He  experienced  many  seasons 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


259 


of  adversity,  but  they  never  failed  to  be  lighted  up  by  the 
glory    of   a   true   friendship.      "When   the   north   wind 
blows,"  he  says,  "  and  it  rains  sadly,  none  but  fools  sit 
down' in    it,   and    cry;   wise   people   defend  themselves 
against  it  with  a  warm  garment,  a  good  fire,  and  a  dry 
roof."  All  these  he  found  at  Golden  Grove,  Lord  Carberry's 
beautiful  seat.     Green  woods,  and  the  songs  of  birds,  and 
the  ripple  of  the  Torvy  combined  their  enchantments  for 
his  pleasure,  and  helped  to   stimulate  his  imagination. 
The  fine  metaphors  and  apposite  similes  with  which  he  so 
freely  ornamented  his  luxuriant  prose  were  suggested  to 
him  by  the  broad  uplands  and  the  leafy  hollows  of  the 
valley  between  Carmarthen  and  Llandovery.     Conspicuous 
in  the  green  landscape  rose  the  wavy  crest  of  Grongar  Hill, 
which  Dyer  has  celebrated  in  his  pleasant  pastoral  poem. 
The  picture  was  just  such  an  one  as  Taylor,  who,  though  he 
wrote  in  prose,  was  a  true  poet,  loved  to  contemplate  :  — 
"  I  am  fallen,"  he  writes,  "  into  the  hands  of  publicans 
and  sequestrators,  and  they  have  taken  all  from  me  ;  what 
now?     Let  me  look  about  me.     They  have  left  me  the 
sun  and  moon,  fire  and  water,  a  loving  wife,  and  many 
friends  to  pity  me,  and  some  to  relieve  me ;  and  I  can  still 
discourse,  and  unless  I  list,  they  have  not  taken  away  my 
merry  countenance,  and  my  cheerful  spirit,  and  a  good 
conscience  ;  they  have  still  left  me  the  providence  of  God, 
and  all  the  promises  of  the  Gospel,  and  my  religion,  and 
my  hopes  of  heaven,  and  my  charity  to  them  too ;  and 
still   I  sleep   and   digest,  I   eat   and  drink,   I   read  and 
meditate.    I  can  walk  in  my  neighbour's  pleasant  fields, 
and  see  the  variety  of  natural  beauties,  and  delight  in  all 
that  in  which  God  delights— that  is,  in  virtue  and  wisdom, 
in  the  whole  creation,  and  in  God  Himself." 


260 


THE  MEKKT  MONARCH  ; 


In  the  works  which  Jeremy  Taylor  composed  at  Golden 
Grove  we  trace  the  perceptible  influence  of  the  scenery 
that  surrounded  and  delighted  him.  Their  frequent 
passages  of  rui-al  description  are  redolent  with  the  sweet 
odours  of  poetry.  Our  readers  will  probably  be  familiar 
with  his  beautiful  comparison  of  a  Christian's  prayer  to 
the  heavenward  songful  flight  of  a  lark  :— 

«  So  have  I  seen  a  lark  rising  from  his  bed  of  grass, 
and  soaring  upwards,  singing  as  he  rises,  and  hopes  to 
get  to  heaven  and  climb  above  the  clouds  ;  but  the  poor 
bird  was  beaten  back  with  the  loud  sighings  of  an  eastern 
wind,   and  his   motion   made   irregular   and   inconstant, 
descending  more  at  every  breath  of  the  tempest,  than  it 
could  recover  by  the  vibration  and  frequent  weighing  of 
its  wings,  till  the  little  creature  sat  down  to  pant  and  stay 
till  the  "storm  was  over  ;  and  then  it  made  a  prosperous 
flight,  and  did  rise  and  sing  as  if  it  had  learned  music 
from  an  angel,  as  he  passed  sometimes  through  the  air 
about  his  ministering  here  below.     So  is  the  prayer  of  a 

good  man." 

It  will  be  seen  that,  as  is  the  case  with  every  great 
writer,  Taylor's  style  is  peculiarly  his  own,  and  is  dis- 
tinguished by  a  kind  of  stately  music,  like  the  harmonious 
peal  of  an  organ.  The  imagery  is  rich  and  exquisite ;  the 
rhythm  sustained  and  dignified.     Here  are  a  few  sped- 

mens  :— 

"The  love  of  the  Divine  Architect  has  scattered  the 

firmament  with  stars,  as  a  man  sows  corn  in  his  fields." 

«  So  have  I  seen  a  rose  newly-springing  from  the  clefts 
of  its  hood,  and  at  first  it  was  fair  as  the  morning,  and 
full  with  the  dew  of  heaven  as  a  lamb-fleece  ;  but,  when 
a  ruder  breath  had  forced  open  its  virgin  modesty,  and 


OR,   ENGLAND   TTNDEE  CHAELES  II.  261 

dismantled  its  too  youthful  and  unripe  retirements,  it 
be<^an  to  put  on  darkness,  and  decline  to  softness  and  the 
symptoms  of  a  sickly  age  ;  it  bowed  the  head  and  broke 
its  stalk,  and  at  night  having  lost  some  of  its  leaves  and 
all  its  beauty,  it  fell  into  the  portion  of  weeds  and  out- 

worn  faces.' 

"  The  sun  approaching  towards  the  gates  of  the  morn- 
ing first  opening  a  little  eye  of  heaven,  and  sending  away 
the'  spirits  of  darkness,  and  giving  light  to  a  cock,  and 
callin..  up  the  lark  to  matins,  and  by-and-bye  gilding  the 
frino'Is  of  a  cloud,  peeping  over  the  eastern  hills,  thrusting 
out  lis  golden  horns  like  those  which  decked  the  brow  of 
Moses,  when  he  was  forced  to  wear  a  veil,  because  himself 

had  seen  the  face  of  God  ?  " 

'Tor  so  doth  the  humble  ivy  creep  at  the  foot  of  the 
oak,  and  leans  upon  its  lowest  base,  and  begs  shade  and 
protection,  and  to  grow  under  its  branches,  and  to  give  and 
take  mutual  refreshment,  and  pay  a  friendly  influence  for 
a  mighty  patronage  ;  and  they  grow  and  dwell  together, 
and  are  the  most  remarkable  of  friends  and  married  pairs 

of  all  the  leafy  nation." 

It  is  easy,  when  we  read  such  swallow-flights  of  poetical 
expression,  to  understand  why  Mason  called  Jeremy  Taylor 
»  the  Shakespeare  of  English  prose  ;  "  and  why  Mr.  Lecky, 
with  much  more  felicity,  has  compared  his  style  to  "  a 
deeply-murmuring  sea  with  the  sunlight  on  it." 

The  love  of  nature  which  filled  his  soul  rejoiced  in  "  the 
breath  of  heaven,  not  willing  to  disturb  the  softest  stalk 
of  a  violet ; "  in  "  the  gentle  wind  shaking  the  leaves  with 
a  refreshment  and  cooling  shade  ;  "  in  "  the  rainbow,  half 
made  of  the  glory  of  Ught,  and  half  of  the  moisture  of  a 
cloud ; "  and  in  « the  fountain,  swelling  over  the  green 


k 


262 


THE   MEEET   MONARCH  ; 


tnrf."  In  the  Divine  liandiwork  he  found  a  continual 
inspiration  of  praises  and  thanksgiving ;  and  he  was  one 
of  the  very  first  of  our  writers  who  endeavoured  to  lead  the 
soul  through  Creation  up  to  Creation's  God  :  "  Let  every- 
thing you  see  represent  to  your  spirit  the  excellency  and 
the  power  of  God,  and  let  your  conversation  with  the 
creatures  lead  you  unto  the  Creator ;  and  so  shall  your 
actions  be  done  more  frequently  with  an  eye  to  God's 
presence,  by  your  often  seeing  Him  in  the  glass  of  the 
creation.  In  the  face  of  the  sun  you  may  see  God's 
beauty ;  in  the  fire  you  may  feel  His  heart  wanning ;  in 
the  water  His  gentleness  to  refresh  you  ;  "  it  is  the  dew 
of  heaven  that  makes  your  field  give  you  bread." 

In  the  tranquil  retirement  of  Golden  Grove  Taylor's 
genius  reached  its  maturity.     It  was  there  that  he  wrote 
his  "  Holy  Living  and  Holy  Dying,"  his  "  Life  of  Christ," 
some  of  his  finest  "  Sermons,"  his  "  Treatise  on  the  Real 
Presence,"  and  the  volume  of  devotional  exercises  which 
he  affectionately    entitled  "  The   Golden  Grove."      And 
now  we  may  pause  to  glance  at  the  distinctive  marks  of 
Jeremy  Taylor  as  a  divine,  a  writer,   a  preacher,  and  a 
theologian.     In  all  four  capacities  we  are  struck  by  the 
fulnesr  and  solidity  of  his  thought,  the  breadth  of  his 
observation,  the  living  nature  of  his  sympathies,  as  weU 
as  by  those  minor  but  special  characteristics,  the  richness 
of  his  imagery  and  the  opulence  of  his   diction.    In  all 
he  exhibited  the  same  well-balanced  judgment,  the  same 
judicious  avoidance  of  extremes  ;  the   moderate  wisdom 
which  sometimes  induced  him,  after  the  utterance  of  a 
strong  statement,  to  qualify  it  in  a  later  work.     In  all,  we 
observe  the  same  liberal  and  enlightened  spirit,  and  the 
same  large-souled  disregard  of  forms  and  formularies  wheix 


OK,    ENGLAND    TJNDEE   CHABLES   II. 


263 


set  against  the  eternal  verities.    We  have  already  com 
mented  on  his  style,  in  which  "the  mind,  the  music     that 
inform  it  compel  our  warmest  admiration.     ^Vhen  every 
deduction  has  been  made  that  a  cold  and  severe  critic 
can  claim-when  we  have  admitted  his  occasional  exuber- 
ance, the  over-amplitude  of  his  images,  the   infrequent 
lapse  into  what,  to  our  modern  taste,  seems  grotesque  and 
objectionable-it  still  remains  true  that  he  is  unquestion- 
ably one  of  the  three  or  four  greatest  masters  of  Enghsh 
prose.     His  style,  more  animated  and  plastic  than  that  of 
Gibbon,  is  more  sweeping  and  harmonious  than  that  ot 
Hooker,  more  majestic  than  that  of  South.     ^\  hile  Sir 
Thomas   Browne    approaches    nearer  to    hun  than  any 
other  writer,  he  falls  short  of  Taylor  in  the  matter  of 
picturesque  allusiveness  and  poetical  sensibility.     To  this 
allusiveness  we  have  not  failed  to  direct  the  reader  s  atten- 
tion     From  the  accumulated  treasures  of  reading,  obser- 
vation, experience,  and  reflection  he  draws  without  stint 
image  and  simile,  metaphor  and  illustration.  Not  less  con- 
spicuous is  the  grandeur  of  his  conceptions,  which  are 
those  of  a  man  living  always  in  the  pure  serene   air  of 
spiritual  thought.     The  greatest  ideas  were  his  ordinary 
food     He  dealt  with  them  as  freely  and  easily  as  smaller 
minds   deal   with  their    paltry  commonplaces.      Pathos, 
terror,  sublimity,  tenderness-he  struck  each  chord  ot  the 
manifold  lyre  with  even  skill.     He  handled  with  equal 
felicity  the  radiant  pencil  of  a  Claude  Lorraine  and  the 
powerful  brush  of  a  Salvator  Rosa.   He  could  paint  scenes 
with  the  graciousness  of  a  Spenser  or  the  lurid  po.ver  ot  a 

We  must  venture  on  a  few  more  quotations  in  illustra- 
tion of  this  many-sidedness :— 


264 


It  I 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


265 


"All  the  successions  of  time,  all  the  changes  of  nature, 
all  the  varieties  of  light  and  darkness,  the  thousand 
thousands  of  accidents  in  the  world,  and  every  con- 
tingency to  every  man  and  to  every  creature,  doth  preach 
one  funeral  sermon,  and  calls  us  to  look  and  see  how  the 
old  sexton  Time  throws  up  the  earth  and  digs  a  grave, 
where  we  must  lay  our  sins  or  our  sorrows,  and  sow  our 
bodies,  till  they  rise  again  in   a  fair  or  an  intolerable 

eternity." 

<«"When  persecution  hurls  a  man  down  from  a  large 
fortune  to  an  even  one,  or  from  thence  to  the  face  of 
the  earth,  or  from  thence  to  the  grave,  a  good  man  is  but 
preparing  for  a  crown,  and  the  tyrant  does  but  just  knock 
off  the  fetters  of  the  soul,  the  manacles  of  passion  and 
desire,  sensual  lives  and  lower  appetites;  and  if  God 
suffers  him  to  finish  the  persecution,  tlien  he  can  but 
dismantle  the  souFs  prison,  and  let  the  soul  fly  to  the 
mountains  of  rest.  And  all  the  intermediate  evils  are  but 
like  the  Purian  punishments  :  the  executioner  tore  off  their 
hairs,  and  rent  their  silken  mantles,  and  discomposed  their 
curious  dressings,  and  lightly  touched  the  skin;  yet  the 
offender  cried  out  with  most  bitter  exclamations,  while  his 
fault  was  expiated  with  a  ceremony  and  without  blood. 
So  does  God  to  His  servants :  He  rends  their  upper  gar- 
ments, and  strips  them  of  their  unnecessary  wealth,  and 
ties  them  to  physic  and  salutary  discipline ;  and  they  cry 
out  under  usages  which  have  nothing  but  the  outward 
sum  and  opinion  of  evil,  not  the  real  substance." 

"  The  river  that  runs  slow  and  creeps  by  the  banks,  and 
begs  leave  of  every  turf  to  let  it  pass  is  drawn  into  little 
hollo wnesses,  and  spends  itself  in  smaller  portions,  and 
dies  with  diversion ;  but  when  it  runs  with  vigorousness 


and  a  full  stream,  and  breaks  down  every  obstacle,  making 
it  even  as  its  own  brow,  it  stays  not  to  be  tempted  by 
little  avocations,  and  to  creep  into  holes,  but  runs  into  the 
sea  through  full  and  useful   channels.     So  is  a   man's 
prayer  ;  if  it  moves  upon  the  pit  of  an  abated  appetite,  it 
wanders  into  the  society  of  every  trifling  accident,  and 
stays  at  the  corners  of  the  fancy,  and  talks  with  every 
object  it  meets,  and  cannot  arrive  at  heaven;  but  when 
it  is  carried  upon  the  wings  of  passion  and  strong  desires, 
a  swift  motion  and  a  hungry  appetite,  it  passes  on  through 
all  the  intermediate  regions  of  clouds,  and  stays  not  till  it 
dwells  at  the  foot  of  the  Throne,  where  Mercy  sits,  and 
ihence  sends  holy  showers  of  refreshment.  I  deny  not  but 
some  little  drops  will  turn  aside,  and  fall  from  the  full 
channel  by  the   weakness  of  the  banks  and  hollowness 
of  the  passage;  but  the  main  course  is  still  continued; 
and  although  the  most  earnest  and  devout  persons  feel 
and   complain  of  some  looseness   of   spirit   and  unfixed 
attentions,   yet   their   love   and  their   desire   secure  the 
main  portions,  and  make  the  prayer  to  be  strong,  fervent, 

and  effectual." 

«  Because  friendship  is  that  by  which  the  world  is  most 
blessed  and  receives  most  good,  it  ought  to  be  chosen 
among  the  worthiest  persons,  that  is,  amongst  those  that 
can  do  greatest  benefit  to  each  other ;  and  though  in  equal 
worthiness  I  may  choose  by  my  eye,  or  ear,  that  is,  into  the 
consideration  of  the  essential  I  may  take  in  also  the  acci- 
dental  and  extrinsic  worthinesses ;  yet  I  ought  to  give 
everyone  their  just  value ;  v^hen  the  internal  beauties  are 
equal,  thou  shalt  help  to  weigh  down  the  scale,  and  I  wiU 
love  a  worthy  friend  that  can  delight  me  as  well  as  profit 
me,   rather  than  him  who   cannot    delight    me  at  all. 


266 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


OR,    ENGLAND   TINDER    CHARLES    II. 


267 


and  profit  me  no   more;   but  jet  I  will  not  weigli  tlie 
gayest  of  flowers,   or  the  wings   of  butterflies,   against 
wheat ;   but  when   I   am   to   choose  wheat,  I  may  take 
that  which  looks  the  brightest.      I  had  rather  see  thyme 
and  roses,  marjoram  and  July  flowers  (gilli-flowers),  that 
are  fair,  sweet,  and  medicinal,  than  the  prettiest  tulips, 
which  are   good   for   nothing;   and   my  sheep  and  kine 
are   better   servants    than  race-horses   and   greyhounds; 
and  I  shall  nither  furnish  my  study  with  Plutarch  and 
Cicero,  with  Livy  and  Polybius,  than  with  Cassandra  and 
Ibrahim   Bassa ;  *   and   if  I   do   give   an   hour   to    these 
for  divertisement  or  pleasure,  yet  will  I  dwell  with  those 
than  can  instruct  me,  and  make  me  wise  and  eloquent, 
severe  and  useful  to  myself  and  others.      I  end  this  with 
the  saying  of  Lalius  in  Cicero:  ^Friendship  ought  not  to 
follow  utility,  but  utility  friendship.'     When  I  choose  my 
friend,  I  will  not  stay  till  I  have  received  a  kindness  ;  but 
I  will  choose  such  an  one  as  can  do  me  many  if  I  need 
them;  but  I  mean  such  kindnesses  which  make  me  wise, 
and  which  make  me  better ;  that  is,  I  will,  when  I  choose 
my  friend,  choose  him  that  is  the  bravest,  the  worthiest, 
and  the  most  excellent  person  ;  and  then  your  question  is 
soon  answered.     To  love  such  a  person,  and  to  contract 
such  friendships,  is  just  as  authorized  by  the  principles  of 
Christianity,  as  it  is  warranted  to  love  wisdom  and  virtue, 
goodness  and  beneficence,  and  all  the  impresses  of  God 
upon  the  spirits  of  brave  men." 

In  1648  Taylor  published  "  The  Life  of  Christ;  or,  The 
Great  Exemplar  ; "  the  preface  to  which  breathes  his  usual 
liberality  of  view  and  is  rendered  especially  valuable  by  its 
vigorous  generalisations.      It  seeks  to  prove  that  the  per- 

♦  Two  of  Mademoiselle  de  Scuderi's  interminable  romances. 


A 
I 


ceptive  part  of  true  religion,  the  moral  law,  as  taught  by 
Nature,  by  Moses,  and  our  Lord,  is  in  all  its  parts  abso- 
lutely  "reasonable;"    in    other    words,   eminently   and 
peculiarly  fitted  to  subserve  the  purpose  for  which  man 
was   made,    of    "  living    happily."      The   work  itself  is 
thoroughly  practical ;   it  elucidates   the  teaching  of  the 
labours''  and   character  of  Christ,   and  applies  it   to  the 
reader^s   benefit.      Chronological    order    is    not   strictly 
observed  ;  and,  of  course,  Taylor  does  not  anticipate  the 
"negative   criticism"   which,   of    late    years,   has    been 
applied  so  perseveringly  to  the  Gospel  narrative.     Defects 
of  plan    are   obvious,   and  to  topics   of  comparative  un- 
importance  an  undue  space   is   sometimes  allotted ;  but 
these   and  other  faults   are  as   nothing   compared   with 
the   beauty    and    splendour    of    the    composition    as    a 
whole,  and  the  spiritual  insight,  the  knowledge   of  the 
human   heart,    and    the    deep    pathos    which    underlies 

particular  passages. 

Of  the    "Holy   Living   and   Holy   Dying,"   the   most 
popular  of  Jeremy   Taylor's   works,    and    probably    the 
most  popular,  as  it  seems  to  us  incomparably  the  best, 
of    all    English    devotional    writings,    it    would   be    as 
superfluous  as   presumptuous  to  speak  in   praise.     How 
many  aching  hearts,  how  many  weary  minds  have  sought 
and  found  consolation  in   its   pages !     How  many   con- 
sciences  have  they  awakened— how  many  souls  have  they 
moved,  purified,  exalted  1      When  John  Wesley  had  read 
the  chapter  "  On  Purity  of  Intention,"  he  was  so  deeply 
touched  by  it,  so  overcome,  that  he  thenceforth  resolved 
to   devote  his  whole  life  to  God,  all  his   thoughts,  and 
words,   and   deeds— "being   thoroughly   convinced    that 
there  was  no  medium,  but  that  every  part  of  life  must 


268 


THE   MEERT  MONARCH  ; 


either  be  a  sacrifice  to  God  or  to  one's   self."      It  lias 
been   said  that  the  "Holy  Living  and   Dying"  are  the 
"  Paradise  Lost  and  Eegained "  of  devotional  literature, 
with  their  sublime  strains  softened  by  the  singular  beauty 
of  the  Christian  "  Allegro  and  Penseroso."  With  Keble  we 
are  ready  to  exclaim—"  Audiamus  jam  ilUm  hene  beateque 
Vivendi  ac   moriendi  Antistitem."    To  the  depressed,  the 
feeble,  the  weary— to  the  broken  spirit  and  the  fainting 
heart,  as  to  the  trusting,  undoubting  soul ;  to  the  eager- 
ness of  youth,  the  aspiration  of  manhood,  the  contented- 
ness  of  old  age— these   consecrated   pages  come  with  a 
balm   and  a  benediction ;   for  their  writer  speaks  as  if 
his  lips  had  been  touched  with  a  live  coal  from  the  altar 
of  God.     They   glow  with  the  sweet  pure  sunshine   of 
heaven;  in  each  eloquently  musical  period  we   seem  to 
catch  the  echoes  of  angelic  songs.      "  All  images  of  rural 
delight ;  the  rose  and  the  lily ;  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  ; 
the  "various   incidents   of  sun   and   shade ;   the  shadows 
of  trees  ;  the  gilding  of  clouds,  the  murmuring  of  waters 
—whatever   charms  the  eye,   or  comforts   the   heart,  or 
enchants  the  ear,  is   collected  in  these  pictures  of  the 
religious  character."     The  rare  excellence  of   Taylor's 
manual    is    most    manifest  when  we   compare    it  with 
the  devotional  treatises  of  the  Eoman  Church ;  and  the 
comparison  is  the  more  valuable  from  the  way  in  which 
it  brings  out  the  sober  teaching  and  the  manly  modera- 
tion of  the  Church  of  England.    For  with  all  Taylor's 
sweetness,  there  is  no  effeminacy;   with   all  his   strict- 
ness  of  discipline,  no   asceticism.    While  appealing  to 
the  heart,  the   soul,  the   conscience,  he   appeals   also  to 
the  mtellect  and  the  understanding.     He  never  fails  to 
be  practical  and  self-reliant ;  his  earnestness  is  governed 


OR,   ENGLAND   TJNDKR   CHARLES   II. 


269 


ty  cood  sense,  and  never  dreams  itself  away  m  a  sen- 
suous  sentimentalism.     In  this  one-  sentence,  which,  we 
think,  only  an  English  Churchman,  or  at  all  events  only 
an  English  Christian,  could  have  written,  you  find  the 
quintessence  of  Jeremy  Taylor's  theory  of  the  true  re- 
gimen   of   life  :  - "  God    hath    given    every  man  work 
enough  to  do,  that  there  should  be  no  room  for  idleness, 
and  yet  hath  so  ordered  the  world  that  there  shall  be 
place  for  devotion.      He  that  hath  the  fewest  businesses 
in  the  world   is  called  upon  to  spend  more  time  in  the 
dressing  of  his  soul;  and  he  that  has  the  most  affairs  may 
so  order  them  that  they  shall  be  a  service  of  God." 

In  the  preface  to  the  volume  of  prayers  to  which  he 
gave  the  title  of  « The  Golden  Grove,"  Taylor  warmly 
expresses  his   regret   at  the   overthrow   of  the   English 
Church,  and  his  deep  affection  for  "  her  sacraments  so 
adorned  and  ministered,"  and   "  her    circumstances    of 
relic^ion  so  useful  and   apt  for  edification."     He  states 
with  much  freedom  his   opinion   of  the  harsh  and  un- 
christian conduct  of  the  Puritan  preachers.      At  a  time 
when    Taylor    stood    almost    alone   in   his   advocacy   of 
religious  tolerance,  his  language  not  unnaturally  excited 
the°prejudices  of   the  dominant  party;  and  Taylor   was 
arrested    and    thrown    into    prison.      He    was    quickly 
released ;  but  seems   again  to  have  offended  the  ruling 
powers,  and  to  have  been  committed  to  Chepstow  Castle, 
where,  however,  he  was  not  uncourteously  treated.     He 
used  his  pen  to  good  purpose,  adding  twenty-five   dis- 
courses to  the  collection  previously  published,  and  pro- 
ducing his  « Unum  Necessarium ;  or.  The  Doctrine  and 
Practice  of  Eepentance,  describing  the  Necessities   and 
Measures  of  a  Strict,  a  Holy,  and  a  Christian  Life,  and 


270 


THE  MERKY  MONARCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


271 


a 


rescued  from  Popular  Errors."   This  theological  manifesto 
involved  him  in  new  troubles;    for    by   attacking    the 
Calvinistic  doctrine  of  Original    Sin,   and  other  related 
dogmas,  it  provoked  not  only  the  anger  of  the  Calvinistic 
and  Puritan  preachers,  but  the  censure  of  some  of  the 
Catholic   divines  of    his   own    Church.      The    moderate 
Warner,  Bishop  of  Eochester,  expressed  his  disapproval ; 
while   the  admirable   Sanderson  complained,   even  with 
tears,  of  Taylor's  departure  from  the  cautious  and  Scrip- 
tural'teaching  of  the  Church  of  England.     In  a  strain 
which  showed   that  he   was  no  convert  to  the  tolerant 
sins  of  the  "  Liberty  of  Prophesying,"  he  lamented  the 
misery   of    the  times,   so  that   it  was   not    possible   to 
suppress  by  authority  such   "  perilous   and  unseasonable 
novelties."     Taylor's  theories,  which  may  be  traced  to  his 
dislike  to  the   Augustinian  theology,  are  probably   much 
more  acceptable  in  the  present  day  than  they  were  in  his 
own.  That  they  were  not  wholly  consistent  in  themselves, 
however,   Coleridge  has  shown  in  the  « Aids  to  Reflec- 
tion." 

On  his  return  from  imprisonment,  he  still  continued  his 

residence  in  Wales,  diversifying  it  by  occasional  visits  to 
London  and  its  neighbourhood— more  particularly  to 
Evelyn,  at  Sayes  Court,  where  he  met  with  Robert  Boyle, 
the  philosopher,  the  theoretical  Watkins,  and  Berkeley, 
afterwards  Bishop  of  Cloyne.  In  reference  to  one  of 
these  visits,  in  1655,  he  writes  to  Evelyn:-" I  did 
believe  myself  so  very  much  bound  to  you  for  your  so 
kind,  so  friendly  reception  of  me  in  your  Tuscalanum, 
that'l  had  some  little  wonder  upon  me  when  I  saw  you 
making  excuses  that  it  was  no  better.  Sir,  I  came  to  see 
jou  and  your  lady,  and  am  highly  pleased   that   I   did 


II 


SO,  and  found  all  your  circumstances  to  be  an  heap  and 
union  of    blessings.     But  I  have  not  either  so  great  a 
fancy   and  opinion   of  the   prettiness  of  your   abode,   or 
so  low  an   opinion   of  your  prudence   and  piety,   as   to 
think  you   can  be   anyways  transported   with   them.     I 
know  the  pleasure  of  them  is  gone  off  from  their  light 
before  one  month's  possession;  and  that  strangers,  and 
seldom  {i.e.,   occasional)   seers,  feel  the  beauty   of  them 
more   than  you  who  dwell  with  them.     T  am  pleased, 
indeed,  at  the  order  and  the  cleanness  of  all  your  out- 
ward things;  and  look  upon  you  not  only  as  a  person, 
by   way   of  thankfulness   to   God    for   His   mercies   and 
g^oodness   to  you,   especially  obhged  to  a  great  measure 
of  piety,  but  also  as  one  who,  being  freed  in  great  degrees 
from  secular  cares  and  impediments,  can,  without  excuse 
and  alloy,  wholly  intend  what  you  so  passionately  desire, 

the  service  of  God." 

We  cannot  wonder  that  such  a   man  as  Taylor  drew 
towards  him  the  hearts  of  many  friends.     We  have  seen 
on  what  terms  of  afPectionate  intercourse  he  lived  with 
Kichard  Yaughan,  Earl  of  Carberry.    When  the  first  Lady 
Carberry  died,  he  preached  her  funeral  sermon,  and  painted 
a   portrait   of  her   in   glowing  colours   which,  as  Heber 
says,    belongs    rather    to    an    angehc    than    a    human 
character.     The  second  Lady  Carberry  was  the  original 
of  ''  the  Lady  ''  in  Milton's  "  Comus ;  "  she,  too,  bestowed 
on  Taylor  her  confidence   and  regard.     His  relations  to 
Evelyn  were    of   the  pleasantest    description.      Evelyn 
would  fain  have  had  him  settle  in  London  that  he  might 
be  nearer  to  him ;  but  Taylor  was  content  with  occasional 
visits,   when   he   officiated  to   private   congregations    of 
Churchmen,   and    enjoyed    the    graceful  hospitality    of 


»I|IIIH I PI.IIIIIIHI" 


^*i 


272 


THE  MEREY  MONAKCH  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


273 


Sayes  Court.  In  1657,  Evelyn  granted  his  friend  a 
pension,  wliich  must  have  been  welcome  exceedingly; 
'^  since  he  was  sorely  inconvenienced  by  the  res  angustcB. 
domi,  and  suffered  much  from  family  troubles,  losing  two 
of  his  sons  through  an  attack  of  smallpox." 

In  1658,  the  Earl  of  Conway,  another  of  Taylor's  in- 
fluential friends,  induced  him,  by  enlisting  Evelyn's  in- 
fluence,  to  accept  a  lectureship   at  Lisburn,  or,  as  it  was 
then  called,  Lisnagarvy,  in  the  north  of  Ireland.     As  the 
stipend  was  small,  and  the  duty  to  be  shared  with  a  Pres- 
byterian,  Taylor  at  first  felt   some  reluctance;  but  it  was 
overcome,  and  in  the  summer  he  crossed  to  Ireland,  and 
settled  with  his  family  at  Portmore,  within  about  eight 
miles  of  Lisburn,    There,  in  full  view  of  the  broad  ex- 
pause  of  Lough  Neagh,  and  with  the  silent  shadows  of 
^rim  mountains  gathering  round  him,  he  enjoyed  the  se- 
elusion  so  dear  to  a  contemplative  mind.     -  My  retirement 
to  this  solitary  place,-  he  wrote  to  Evelyn,  -  hath  been,  I 
hope,  of  some  advantage  to  me  as  to  this  state  of  religion, 
in  which  I  am  yet  but  a  novice,  but,  by  the  goodness  of 
God  I  see  fine  things  before  me  whither  I  am  contending. 
It  is'  a  great,  but  a  good  work,  and  I  beg  of  you  to  assist 
me  with  your  prayers,  and  to  obtain  of  God  for  me  that 
I  may  arrive  at  the  height  of  love  and  union  with  God, 
which  is  given  to  all  those  souls  who  are  very  dear  to 
God  "     The  tradition  runs,  that  he  was  wont  to  retire  for 
study  or  devotion  to  some  of  the  picturesque  islets  which 
repose  amid  the  shining  waters  of  the  lake. 

In  16G0,  he  issued,  as  we  have  already  noted,  his  great 
casuistica/  work,  the  "  Ductor  Dubitantium,-  and  also, 
a  The  Worthy  Communicant,"  in  which  he  expatiates 
upon  the  blessings  to  be  derived  from  the  holy  receiving 


of  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  furnishes  the  minister  with 
useful  directions  for  dealing  with  difficult  cases  of  con- 
science.    It  is  not  without  traces  of  the   affluence  and 
power  of  Taylor's  earlier  writings.     One  of  the  most  strik- 
ing passages  is  that  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  Sacra- 
mental mystery   as   having  been  made   intricate,  like   a 
doctrine  of  philosophy,  and  difficult  by  the  assertion  and 
dissolution  of  distinctions.     ''So   we  sometimes  espy   a 
bright  cloud  formed  into  an  irregular  figure ;  which,  as  it 
is  observed  by  unskilful  and  fantastic  travellers,  looks  like 
a  curtain  to   some,  and  as  a  castle  to  others ;  some  tell 
that  they  saw  an  army  with  banners,  and  it  signifies  war; 
but  another,  wiser  than  his  fellows,  says  it  looks  like  a 
flock  of  sheep,  and  foretells  plenty ;  and  all  the  while  it 
is  nothing  but  a   shining  cloud,  by  its  own  mobility  and 
the  activity  of  a  wind  cast  into  a  contingent  and  artificial 
shape ;  so  it  is   in  this  great  mystery  of  our  religion,  in 
which  some  copy  strange  things  which  God  intended  not ; 
and  others  see  not  what  God  hath  plainly  told." 

To  this  great  English  divine,  and  greatest  of  English 
ecclesiastical  orators,  no  higher  preferment  was  given  at 
the  Eestoration  than  the  Bishopric  of  Down  and  Connor, 
to  which  he  was  nominated  on  the  6th  of  August,  1660. 
Shortly   after,   he   was   elected  Yice- Chancellor   of    the 
University  of  Dublin.     His  consecration  took  place  on  the 
27th  of  January,  1661,  in  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral.     The 
sermon  which  he  preached  on  the  occasion  won  the  atten- 
tive admiration  of  liis  hearers  by  its  force  of  argument 
and  brilliancy  of  style.     "  The  whole  ceremony  was  con- 
ducted without  any  confusion  or  the  least  clamour  heard, 
save  many  prayers  and  blessings  from  the  people,  although 
the  throng  was  great,  and  the  windows  throughout  the 

VOL.    II.  ^ 


272  THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 

Sayes  Court.  In  1657,  Evelyn  granted  his  friend  a 
pension,  whicli  must  have  been  welcome  exceedingly; 
"  since  he  was  sorely  inconvenienced  by  the  res  angndm 
domi,  and  suffered  much  from  family  troubles,  losing  two 
of  his  sons  through  an  attack  of  smallpox." 

In  1658,  the  Earl  of  Conway,  another  of  Taylor's  in- 
fluential friends,  induced  him,  by  enlisting  Evelyn's  in- 
fluence, to  accept  a  lectureship  at  Lisburn,  or,  as  it  was 
then  called,  Lisnagarvy,  in  the  north  of  Ireland.     As  the 
stipend  was  small,  and  the  duty  to  be  shared  with  a  Pres- 
byterian, Taylor  at  first  felt  some  reluctance;  but  it  was 
overcome,  and  in  the  summer  he  crossed  to  Ireland,  and 
settled  with  his  family  at  Portmore,  within  about  eight 
miles  of  Lisburn.     There,  in  full  view  of  the  broad  ex- 
panse of  Lough  Neagh,  and  with  the  silent  shadows  of 
grim  mountains  gathering  round  him,  he  enjoyed  the  se- 
clusion so  dear  to  a  contemplative  mind.     "  My  retirement 
to  this  solitary  place,"  he  wrote  to  Evelyn,  "  hath  been,  I 
hope,  of  some  advantage  to  me  as  to  this  state  of  religion, 
in  which  I  am  yet  but  a  novice,  but,  by  the  goodness  of 
God  I  see  fine  things  before  me  whither  I  am  contending. 
It  is  a  great,  but  a  good  work,  and  I  beg  of  you  to  assist 
me  with  your  prayers,  and  to  obtain  of  God  for  me  that 
I  may  arrive  at  the  height  of  love  and  union  with  God, 
which  is  given  to  all  those  souls  who  are  very  dear  to 
God  »     The  tradition  runs,  that  he  was  wont  to  retire  for 
study  or  devotion  to  some  of  the  picturesque  islets  which 
repose  amid  the  shining  waters  of  the  lake. 

In  16G0,  he  issued,  as  we  have  already  noted,  his  great 
casuistical'  work,  the  "  Ductor  Dubitantium,"  and  also, 
"The  Worthy  Communicant,"  in  which  he  expatiates 
upon  the  blessings  to  be  derived  from  the  holy  receiving 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


273 


of  the  Lord's  Supper,  and  furnislies  the  minister  with 
useful  directions  for  dealing  with  difficult  cases  of  con- 
science.    It  is  not  without  traces  of  the   affluence  and 
power  of  Taylor's  earlier  writings.     One  of  the  most  strik- 
ing passages  is  that  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  Sacra- 
mental mystery   as   having  been  made   intricate,  like   a 
doctrine  of  philosophy,  and  difficult  by  the  assertion  and 
dissolution  of  distinctions.     ''So   we  sometimes  espy   a 
bright  cloud  formed  into  an  irregular  figure ;  which,  as  it 
is  observed  by  unskilful  and  fantastic  travellers,  looks  like 
a  curtain  to  some,  and  as  a  castle  to  others ;  some  tell 
that  they  saw  an  army  with  banners,  and  it  signifies  war; 
but  another,  wiser  than  his  fellows,  says  it  looks  like  a 
flock  of  sheep,  and  foretells  plenty ;  and  all  the  while  it 
is  nothing  but  a   shining  cloud,  by  its  own  mobility  and 
the  activity  of  a  wind  cast  into  a  contingent  and  artificial 
shape ;  so  it  is   in  this  great  mystery  of  our  religion,  in 
which  some  copy  strange  things  which  God  intended  not; 
and  others  see  not  what  God  hath  plainly  told." 

To  this  great  English  divine,  and  greatest  of  English 
ecclesiastical  orators,  no  higher  preferment  was  given  at 
the  Eestoration  than  the  Bishopric  of  Down  and  Connor, 
to  which  he  was  nominated  on  the  6th  of  August,  1660. 
Shortly   after,   he   was   elected  Yice-Chancellor   of    the 
University  of  Dublin.     His  consecration  took  place  on  the 
27th  of  January,  1661,  in  St.  Patrick's  Cathedral.     The 
sermon  which  he  preached  on  the  occasion  won  the  atten- 
tive admiration  of  his  hearers  by  its  force  of  argument 
and  brilliancy  of  style.     "  The  whole  ceremony  was  con- 
ducted without  any  confusion  or  the  least  clamour  heard, 
save  many  prayers  and  blessings  from  the  people,  although 
the  throng  was  great,  and  the  windows  throughout  the 

VOL.    II.  ^ 


274 


THE  MEEBT  MONAECH  ; 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDEK  CHAELES  II. 


275 


Hi 


whole  passage  of  the  procession,  to  and  from  the  cathedral, 
fiUed  ^vith  spectators."  In  the  following  April  the  ad- 
jacent diocese  of  Dromore  was  added  to  that  of  Down 
and  Connor,  in  aclmowledgment  of  the  good  bishop's 
"  virtue,  wisdom,  and  industry."  He  had  previously  been 
made  a  Privy  Councillor ;  and  in  May,  1661,  he  was 
appointed  to  preach  at  the  opening  of  the  two  Houses  of 

Parliament. 

His  wise  and  energetic  administration  of  the  Univer- 
sity of  Dublin  laid  the  foundation  of  that  repute  which 
it  has  enjoyed  down  to  our  own  time.    In  his  own  die 
cese  he  displayed  a  similar  vigour.     Having  found  the 
cathedral  of  Dromore  in  a  dilapidated  condition,  he  re- 
built the  choir  at  his  own  expense.     He  underwent  no 
small  anxiety  and  vexation  from  the  Presbyterian  clergy 
who,  during  the  sway  of  the  Commonwealth,  had  been 
intraded  into   the  benefices    of    the   Church;    but  the 
majority  eventually  yielded  to  his  force  of   character, 
while  the  laity  received  him  always  with  admiring  regard. 
His   celebrated   sermon.  Via  Intelligentiw,   published  in 
1662,  showed  that  his  faith  in  his  own  great  doctrine  of 
toleration  was  still  unshaken,  though  he  seems  to  have 
arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  can  hardly  be  applied  to 
those  who  deny  its  validity  or  will  not  avail  themselves  of 

its  operation. 

Taylor's  later  literary  labours  comprised  three  sermons, 
dedicated  to  the  Duchess  of  Ormond,  and  a  "  Discourse 
on  Confirmation."  He  also  preached  the  funeral  sermon 
for  Archbishop  Bramhall,  and  published  his  "  Dissuasive 
from  Popery,"  a  work,  undertaken  at  the  request  of  the 
Irish  Bishops,  which  met  with  immediate  and  extensive 
success.     He  had  projected,  and  was  actually  engaged  in 


preparing,  a  treatise   on  the  Beatitudes,  when  he  was 
seized,  though  still  in  the  very  maturity  of    manhood, 
with  what  proved  to  be  a  mortal  disease  (1667).     It  has 
been  conjectured  that  his  health  had  already  been  affected 
by  his  grief  at  the  misconduct  of  his  two  surviving  sons, 
one  of  whom  had  perished  in  a  duel,  while  the  other  had 
joiued  in  the  excesses  of  the  Earl  of  Rochester.  Symptoms 
of  fever  appeared  on  the  3rd  of  August,  and  ten  days  later, 
in  the  55th  year  of  his  age,  and  the  seventh  of  his  episco- 
pate, he  passed  away.     His  remains  were  interred  in  the 
choir  of  the  cathedral  church  of  Dromore ;  his  name  lives 
in  the  hearts  of  all  English  Churchmen  who  know  how  to 
appreciate  the  splendour  of   a  genius  devoted  to  God's 
service,  and  the  beauty  of  a  holy  and  blameless  life. 

"To  sum  up  all  in  a  few  words,"  says  Bishop  Eust, 
"  this  great  prelate  had  the  good  humour  of  a  gentleman, 
the  eloquence  of  an  orator,  the  fancy  of  a  poet,  the  acute- 
ness  of  a  schoolman,  the  promptness  of  a  philosopher, 
the  wisdom  of  a  counsellor,  and  the  piety  of  a  saint." 

At  the  Restoration  the  Church  of  England,  recovering 
from  its  severe  depression,  seemed  suddenly  endowed  with 
a  new  vitality,  and  produced  a  growth  of  eminent  divines 
and  teachers,  distinguished  by  their  intellectual  vigour. 
Bishops  Pearson,  Bull,  and  Beveridge;  Doctors  South  and 
Barrow ;  Baxter  and  Howe,  who  had  not  yet  left  her  com- 
munion ;   these  all  came  into  the  foremost  rank  in  the 
early  years  of  Charles  H.'s  reign  :  while  a  new  school  of 
eminent  men  arose,  of  whom  TiUotson,  Burnet,  and  StiU- 
ingfleet  were  the  chief  representatives-men  who,  m  close 
sympathy  with   the  bold   and  independent  thinkers  at 
Cambridge,  became  the  founders  of  the  Moderate  party 
in  the  Church. 


276 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH; 


Conspicuous  in  tMs  illustrious  group  as  a  rhetorician 
and  a  thinker,  a  scholar  and  a  divine,  was  Dr.  Eobert 
South.     The  son  of  a  prosperous  London  merchant,  he 
was  born  in  1633.     His  early  education   he  received  at 
Westminster  School,  which  was  then  a  perfect  hotbed  of 
royalist  principles  of  the  most  advanced  kind.    As  South 
afterwards  said,  in  a  sermon  preached  to  a  later  genera- 
tion of  Westomonasterians,  "  in  the  very  worst  of  times, 
when  it  was  my  lot  to  be  a  member  of    a  school  un- 
taintedly  loyal,  we  were  really  King's  soldiers,  as  well  as 
called  so ; "  and  he  adds  that  on  that  very  day,  "  that 
eternally  black  and  infamous  day,  of  the  King's  murder, 
I  myself  heard  the  King  pubUcly  prayed  for  "—it  is  said, 
by  South  himself—"  but  an  hour  or  two  at  most  before 
his  sacred  head  was  struck   off."      At    Christ  Church, 
Oxford,  South  soon  attained  disthiction  as   a  scholar  and 
a  wit.    His  strong  prejudices  against  Puritanism  were  so 
openly  expressed  that  Dr.  John  Owen,  whom  Cromwell 
had  appointed  Dean  of  the  College,  rebuked  him  publicly 
as  **  one  who  sat  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful ; "  a  rebuke 
to  which  South  replied,  with  interest,  in  his  earliest  ser- 
mon on  '*  The  Professors  of  Godliness,  but  Workers  of 
Iniquity,  with  their  Sad  Countenances  and  Hypocritical 
Groanings,"  preached  in  1659. 

At  the  Restoration  he  was  immediately  recognised  as 
the  great  preacher  of  the  University  ;  and  on  the  occasion 
of  the  issue  of  a  Commission  to  expel  from  Oxford  its 
Puritan  professors  and  principles,  he  delivered  a  remark- 
able sermon  (July  29,  1660)  in  favour  of  a  learned  clergy, 
and  in  severe  denunciation  of  his  opponents.  He  spoke 
with  great  fervour  of  the  eloquence  of  Scripture,  com- 
mending it  for  imitation  to  the  ministers  of  the  Church, 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


277 


"Where,"  he  said,  "where  do  we  ever  find  sorrow  flowing 
in  such  a  naturally  prevailing  pathos  as  in  the  Lamenta- 
tions -of  Jeremiah  ?     One  would  think  that  every  letter 
was  wrote  with  a  tear,  every  word  was  the  noise  of  a 
breaking  heart ;  that  the  author  was  a  man  compacted  of 
sorrows ;  disciplined  to  grief  from  his  infancy ;  one  who 
never  breathed  but  in   sighs,  nor  spoke  but  in  tears  and 
groans.     So  that  he  who  said  he  would  not  read  the  Scrip- 
ture  for  fear  of  spoiling  his  style,  showed  himself  as  much 
a  blockhead  as  an  atheist,  and  to  have  as  small  a  gust  of  the 
elegancies  of  expression  as  of  the  sacredness  of  the  matter." 
He  adds  that,  "Questionless  when  Christ  says  that  a  Scribe 
must  be  stocked  with  things  new  and  old,  we  must  not 
think  that  He  meant  that  he  should  have  a  hoard  of  old 
sermons   (whosoever  made  them),  with  a  bundle  of  new 
opinions;  for  this  certainly  would  have  furnished  out  such 
entertainment  to  his  spiritual  guests,  as  no  rightly-dis- 
posed palate  could  ever  relish." 

Rewards  and  dignities  poured  in  upon  the  brilliant  and 
uncompromising  orator.  Though  only  28  years  of  age,  he 
was  chosen  Public  Orator,  and  in  this  capacity  congratu- 
lated  Clarendon  on  his  installation  as  Chancellor  in  a 
speech  of  rare  eloquence ;  was  made  one  of  his  chaplains, 
and  appointed  to  preach  before  the  King  at  Whitehall. 
It  was  during  the  sermon  he  then  delivered  that  he  was 
obliged,  according  to  the  Puritans,  by  his  sudden  qualms 
of  conscience  while  inveighing  against  the  Great  Rebellion, 
to  quit  the  pulpit.  If  so,  his  conscience  was  speedily 
quieted,  for  in  almost  all  his  sermons  at  this  period  he  is 
found  denouncing  Cromwell  and  Milton,  the  Puritans  and 
the  Nonconformists,  and  this  with  a  violence  of  language 
and  an  amplitude  of  misrepresentation  which  are  very 


278 


THE  MEERT  MONAKCH ; 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  11. 


279 


deplorable.  He  was  soon  afterwards  appointed  a  Pre- 
bendary of  Westminster  and  Canon  of  Christ  Church, 
and  the  remainder  of  his  long  life  was  spent  either  at 
Westminster  or  Oxford,  except  when,  in  1674,  he  accom- 
panied Lawrence  Hyde's  embassy  to  Poland,  to  congratu- 
late King  John  Sobieski  on  his  accession. 

"South/'  says  Dean  Lake,  "was  the  great  University 
preacher,   and   his   subsequent   career   might   be    easily 
tracked  by  his  Sermons/'     He,  no  doubt,  supported  Dr. 
Jane  in  the  famous  decree  of  Passive  Obedience  which 
passed  Convocation  on  the  day  of  the  execution  of  Lord 
Eussell,  against  "  certain  damnable  doctrines,  destructive 
of  the  sacred  persons  of  Princes/'  and  we  may  be  sure 
that  all  the   bitterest   Acts   of  Parliament   against   the 
Dissenters— the  two  Acts  of  Uniformity,  the  Conventicle 
Act,  the  Five  Mile  Act,  which  drove  2,000  clergy  out  of 
the    Church   of    England   and    imprisoned    Baxter   and 
Bunyan — ^received    his   hearty    approbation.       He    even 
carried  his  hatred  of  novelties  so  far  that,  in  the  true  old 
style  of  Oxford,  he  denounced  the  newly-formed  Eoyal 
Society,  of  which  the  ancient  Bishop  Ward  of  Salisbury 
was  the  second  President,  in  a  speech,  as  Public  Orator. 
It  would  be  very  curious  if  we  could  ascertain  what  were 
his  relations  with  his  old  school-fellow  Locke,  at  Christ 
Church,  in  whose  expulsion  he  must  have  borne  a  part. 
He  declared  himself  ready  to  put  on  a  buff  coat  against 
Monmouth;    and  would  take  no  part  whatever  against 
James  II.,  though  he  did  not  become  a  Nonjuror.     But 
he,  of  course,  opposed  every  act  of  toleration  or  compre- 
hension during  the  reign  of  William,  and  was  a  warm 
supporter  of  Sacheverel  in  1706 ;  and  one  of  his  last  acts 
was  a  hearty  adhesion  to  Lord  Arran  (whose  brother,  the 


Duke  of  Ormond,  had  been  just  before  impeached  for  high 
treason),  who  was  elected  by  the  Chapter  to  the  High 
Stewardship  of  Westminster-^an  ofiice  still  in  their  gift 
—with  the  words,  "  Heart  and  hand  for  my  Lord  Arran.'^ 
South  died,  at  the  age  of  83,  in  1716.    Years  had  not 
taught  him  tolerance  or  moderation ;  and  to  the  very  last 
he  breathed  fiery  invectives  against  all  with  whom  he  dis- 
agreed.    To  what  extremes  his  passionate  genius  carried 
him  you  may  see  in  his  controversy  with  Sherlock  on  the 
doctrine  of  the  Trinity.     Still,  with  all  abatements,  he 
was  a  man  of  great  intellectual  power,  a  master  of  analysis 
and  method,  endowed  with  great  gifts  of  expression,  and 
possessed  of  a  sharp  and  ready  wit.     With  a  little  more 
moral  enthusiasm,  more  self-control,  and  something  of  the 
poet's  divine  faculty  of  imagination,  South  would  have 
taken,  not  the  first  place  among  English  preachers,  for 
that  4ould  still  have  had  to  be  allotted  to  Jeremy  Taylor, 
but,  at  all  events,  the  second;  which  must  now,  wethmk, 

be  given  to  Barrow. 

Of  the  copiousness  and  fine  humour  of  his  method,  and 
its  occasional  pomp  of  rhetoric,  we  have  no  space  for 
illustration.  But  a  few  brief  specimens  of  his  style  may 
be  welcome  to  the  reader  :^"  He  who  owes  all  his  good 
nature  to  the  pot  and  pipe,  to  the  jollity  and  compliances 
of  merry  company,  may  possibly  go  to  bed  with  a 
wonderful  stock  of  good-nature  overnight,  but  then  he 
will  sleep  it  all  away  again  before  the  morning." 

"Love  is  the  great  instrument  and  engine  of  Nature, 
the  bond  and  cement  of  society,  the  spring  and  spirit  of 
the  universe.     Love   is   such   an  affection  as  cannot  so 
properly  be  said  to  be  in  the  soul  as  the  soul  to  be  m 
that.'' 


V 


280 


THE   MEERT   MONARCH; 


*'  The  understanding  arbitrated  upon  all  the  reports  of 
sense  and  all  the  varieties  of  imaj^ination,  not  like  a 
drowsy  judge  only  hearing,  but  directing  the  verdict." 

"It  is  wonderful  to  consider  how  a  couiuiand  or  call  to 
be  liberal^  either  upon  a  civil  or  religious  account,  all  of  a 
sudden  impoverishes  the  rich,  breaks  the  merchant,  shuts 
up  every  private  man's  exchequer,  and  makes  those  men 
in  a  minute  have  nothing,  who,  at  the  very  same  instant, 
want  nothing  to  spend." 

"  '  I  speak  the  words  of  soberness,'  says  St.  Paul,  ^  and  I 
preach  the  Gospel,  not  with  the  enticing  words  of  man's 
wisdom.'  This  was  the  way  of  the  Apostles,  discoursing 
of  things  sacred.  Nothing  here  of  the  fringes  of  the 
North  Star;  nothing  of  ^Nature's  becoming  unnatural ; ' 
nothing  of  '  the  down  of  angel's  wings,  or  the  beautiful 
locks  of  cherubims  ; '  no  starched  similitudes,  introduced 
witli  a  ^Thus  have  I  seen  a  cloud  rolling  in  its  airy 
mansion.'  "^  No,  these  were  sublimities  above  the  rise  of 
the  Apostolic  spirit,  for  the  Apostles,  poor  mortals !  were 
content  to  take  lower  steps  .  .  .  and  to  use  a  dialect 
which  only  pierced  the  conscience,  and  made  the  hearers 
cry  out,  'Men  and  brethren,  what  shall  we  do?'  It 
tickled  not  the  ear,  but  sunk  into  the  heart ;  and  when 
men  came  from  such  sermons,  they  never  commended  the 
preacher  for  his  taking  voice  or  gesture  ;  for  the  fineness 
of  such  a  simile,  or  the  quaintness  of  such  a  sentence ;  but 
they  spoke  like  men  conquered  by  the  overpowering  force 
and  evidence  of  the  most  concerning  truths,  much  in  the 
words  of  the  two  disciples  going  to  Emmaus,  '  Did  not  our 
hearts  burn  within  us  while  He  opened  to  us  the  Scrip- 
tures ? '  *' 

*  This  ifl  an  obvious  allusion  to  Jeremy  Taylor's  prodigality  of  ornament. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


281 


In  1677,  ten  years  after  the  death  of  Jeremy  Taylor, 
died  Dr.  Isaac  Barrow,  Master  of  Trinity  College,   and 
Vice-chancellor  of  the  University  of  Cambridge,    whom 
Charles    11.   is   said  to   have    described   as    "the    best 
scholar  in  England."     He  demands  attention  here,  how- 
ever, not  as  scholar  or  mathematician,  but  as  one  of  the 
most  eminent  of  the  Anglican  divines  and  theologians,  in 
whom  are  shown  the  best  growth  and  fruit  of  the  English 
Church.       His    works,   as    lately    edited,    occupy    nine 
moderate-sized   volumes;    the   old    edition,    familiar   to 
us  in  our  youth,  was  in  three   ponderous   folios.     The 
theological     portion     consists    chiefly    of     '^Sermons.'' 
Generally  speaking,    sermons   are  a   very   fugitive   kind 
of  literature  ;  have  as  brief  a  life  as  political  pamphlets— 
those  swiftest  of  birds  of  passage-or  poems  "  published 
at  the  request  of  friends "   but  the   "discourses"   of  Dr. 
Barrow  have  a  place  among  our  standard  classics.     Charles 
II.  said  of  Barrow,  that  he  was  an  unfair  preacher,  because 
he  exhausted  every  subject  he  touched,  and  left  nothing  for 
any  person  to  say  who  came  after  him ;  and  this  exhaus- 
tiveness  is,  no  doubt,  one  of  his  special  marks.    He  ex- 
amines the  subject  from  every  possible  point  of  view ;  looks 
around  it  and  about  it  and  into  it ;  surveys  it  in  all  its 
various  aspects,  all  its  lights  and  shades  of  difference  and 
distinction.      "Every  sermon,"  says  a  recent  critic,  "is 
exhaustive,  in  the  sense  of  being  a  comprehensive  discus- 
sion of  all  the  compound  parts  of  his  subject.     He  goes 
through  them  all,  one  by  one,  step  by  step,  and  places 
each  in  its  right  position.     The  process,  it  must  be  owned, 
is  sometimes  tedious,  but  it  must  also  be  allowed  that  the 
result,  in  the  hands  of  a  strong  and  laborious  workman 
like  Barrow,  is  vastly  impressive.     When  the  quarry  is 


ZOtt 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


283 


exhausted,  canil  all  the  stones  are  in  their  appointed  places, 
we  have  a  massive  and  a  solid  edifice  before  us,  complete 
from  its  foundations  to  its  roof,  and  strongly  compacted 
in  every  part."  We  do  not  think  that  Barrow's  sermons, 
with  all  their  massiveness  and  solidity  of  thought,  are 
ever  dull  or  tedious  reading;  their  style  is  so  strong,  clear, 
exact,  and  decisive.  It  is  that  of  a  man  who  feels  per- 
fectly niiister  of  his  theme  and  of  himself;  who  knows 
that  he  has  attempted  nothing  which  he  cannot  easily  ac- 
complish. It  lacks  the  splendid  opulence  of  Taylor's 
richly-coloured  diction,  but  then  it  exhibits  a  wonderful 
transparency ;  the  current  is  strenuous  and  full,  but  you 
can  see  to  the  bottom  of  it. 

As  a  theologian,  Barrow  concerns  himself  little  about 
Dogma,  nor  does  he  deal  with  any  of  those  subtler  ques- 
tions—the why,  the  whence,  and  the  whither— which  per- 
plex inquiring  and  restless  minds.     He  is  the  preacher, 
far  excellence,  of  a  practical  religion,  the  reHgion  of  every- 
day life.     He  says  himself :— "  Religion  consisteth  not  in 
fair  profession  and  glorious  pretences,  but  in  real  practice ; 
not  in  a  pretentious  adherence  to  any  sect  or  party,  but  in 
a  sincere  love  of  goodness  and  dislike  of  naughtiness ;  not 
in  a  nice  orthodoxy,  but  in  a  sincere  love  of  truth,  in  a 
hearty  approbation  of,  and  compliance  with,  the  doctrines 
fundamentally  good  and  necessary  to  be  believed ;    not  in 
harsh  censuring  and  virulently  inveighing  against  others, 
hut  in  a  carefully  amending  our   own   ways;    not  in  a 
furious  zeal  for  or  against  trivial  circumstances,  but  in  a 
conscionable  practising  the  substantial  facts  of  religion." 
This  is  the  very  essence  of  Barrow's  teaching,  the  charac- 
ter of  which  is  evident  even  in  the  titles  of  his  sermons : 
as,  for  instance,  "Upright  Walking  sure  Walking,^'  "The: 


Folly  of  Slander,"  "  Not  to  Offend  in  Word,"  "  Against 
Foolish  Talking  and  Jesting,"  ''Of  Contentment,"  "Of 
Industry,"  "  Of  being  Imitators  of  Christ." 

Barrow  was  born  in  1630.  He  was  educated  at  the 
Charterhouse,  and  afterwards  at  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, of  which  he  became  a  Fellow.  He  travelled  ex- 
tensively on  the  Continent  from  1655  to  1659  ;  returned  to 
England,  took  holy  orders,  and  was  appointed  Professor  of 
Greek  at  Cambridge,  and  also  of  Geometry  at  Gresham 
College.  He  held  the  post  of  Lucasian  Mathematical 
Lecturer  at  Cambridge  until  1669,  when  he  was  suc- 
ceeded by  his  friend  and  pupil,  Sir  Isaac  Newton.  Charles 
II.  appointed  him  Master  of  Trinity,  in  1 672  ;  and  he  was 
Vice-Chancellor  of  the  University  when  he  died,  in  1677, 

at  the  early  age  of  47. 

Bishop  Beveridge  was  born  in  February,  1637,  in  the 
parish  of  Barrow-upon-Soar,  in  Leicestershire,  of  which 
parish  his   father  was  Vicar.     He  was  a  boy  of  twelve 
when  Charles  I.  perished  on  the  scaffold  at  Whitehall. 
His  father  had  died  some  time  previously ;  but  the  family 
seem  to  have  had  substance  enough  to  be  able  to  send  the 
lad,  in  1653,  to  Cambridge,  where  he  entered  St.  John's,  and 
came  under  the  influence  of  its  head.  Dr.  Tuckney,  a  dis- 
tinguished Puritan  and  Calvinist.     The  influence  of  this 
able  divine  did  not  sufftce  to  separate  Beveridge  from  the 
Church  of  his  fathers,  but  it  modified  to  some  extent  his 
religious  convictions.     He  became  a  hard  student,   and 
applied  himself  with  much  energy  to  the  study  of  the 
early  history  of  the  Church,  and  of  the  languages  and 
Hterature  of  the  East.     Before  he  was  twenty  he  compUed 
a  Syrian  Grammar.     The  result  of  his  patristic  and  eccle- 
siastical researches  were  given  to  the  world  in  1672  and 


I 


284 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


1679,  in  ''The  Pandectae"  and  ''Tlie  Canones,"— books 
of  no  small  value  and  merit  in  their  time,  though  since 
superseded  by  the  labours  of  more  fortunate  scholars. 

In  the  year  following  the  Eestoration,  Beveridge  was 
ordained  deacon  and  priest,  and  instituted  to  the  Vicarage 
of  Ealing.  Thence,  in  1672,  he  removed  to  the  living  of 
St.  Peter's,  Cornhill,  where  he  toiled  with  unabatiiig  dili- 
gence for  a  period  of  thirty  years.  "  He  applied  himself," 
we  are  told,  "  with  the  utmost  labour  and  zeal  to  the  dis- 
charge of  his  ministry  in  several  parts  and  offices ;  and 
so  instructive  was  he  in  his  discourse  from  the  pulpit,  so 
warm  and  affectionate  in  his  private  exhortations,  so 
regular  and  uniform  in  the  public  worship  of  the  Church, 
and  in  every  part  of  his  pastoral  functions,  and  so  remark- 
ably were  his  labours  crowned  with  success,  that  as  he 
himself  was  justly  styled  '  the  great  reviver  and  restorer 
of  primitive  piety,'  so  his  parish  was  deservedly  proposed 
as  the  best  model  and  pattern  for  the  rest  of  its  neighbours 

to  copy  after." 

While  Kector  of  St.  Peter's,  he  was  successively  pre- 
ferred  Prebendary  of  St.  Paul's  (1674),  Archdeacon  of 
Colchester  (1681),  and  Prebendary  of  Canterbuiy  (1684). 
He  carried  into  his  archidiaconal  work  the  same  spirit  of 
thoroughness  he  had  infused  into  his  parochial— person- 
ally visiting  every  parish,  and  obtaining  an  exact 
knowledge  of  its  condition  and  necessities.  At  Canter- 
bury his  rigorous  Churchmanship  was  somewhat  un- 
pleasantly displayed.  James  II.  had  ordered  that  a  brief 
should  be  read  for  the  relief  of  the  persecuted  French 
Protestants.  Whether  because  he  thought  it  illegal, 
which  could  hardly  have  been  the  case,  or  because,  which 
is  more  probable,  he  did  not  sympathise  with  its  purpose, 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


285 


he  objected  that  it  was  not  sanctioned  by  the  rubrics. 
It  was  then  that  Tillotson  epigrammatically  replied— 
« Doctor,   doctor,  Charity  is  above  rubrics !  " 

At  the  Ee volution  he  took  the  oath  of  allegiance  to 
William  and  Mary,  and  in  1690  was  appointed  one  of  the 
King's  chaplains.  In  1704  he  was  promoted  to  the  see  of 
St.  Asaph.  He  died  on  the  5th  of  March,  1707,  leaving 
behind  him  a  hundred  and  fifty  published  sermons,  dis- 
tinguished by  their  earnest  eloquence  and  their  kind 
exposition  of  Divine  truth. 

To  the   Cambridge   School  of   Moderate   or  Rational 
Theologians— perhaps    we    might  more    fitly    call  them 
Religious  Liberals— belonged  Dr.  Ralph  Cudworth,  who 
was  born  in  1617,  at  Aller,  in  Somersetshire.     In  1644  he 
was  appointed  Master  of  Clare  Hall,  Cambridge,  and  in 
the  following  year,   Regius    Professor   of  Hebrew.     He 
became   D.D.   in    1651,  and  in  1654  Master  of  Christ's 
College.     He  died  in  1688.     We   owe  to  this  judicious 
thinker  and  profound  scholar  a  vigorous  refutation  of 
Atheism,  Hobbism,  and  other  forms  of  scepticism,  entitled, 
''The  True  Intellectual  System  of  the  Universe."     The 
principles  which  he  lays  down  are  these  -.—First,  "  That 
all  things  in  the  world  do  not  float  without  a  head  and 
governo°r,  but  that  there  is  a  God,  an  omnipotent,  under- 
standingBeing,  presiding  over  all.'^     Second,  -  That  this 
God  being  essentially  good  and  just,  there  is  something  in 
its  own  nature  immutably  and  eternally  just  and  unjust, 
and  not  by  arbitrary  law,  will,  and  command  only."    And, 
lastly,  ''That  we  are  so  far  first  principals  or  masters  of 
our  own  actions  as  to  be  accountable  to  justice  for  them, 
or  to  make  us  guilty  and  blamewortliy  for  what  we  do 
amiss,  and  to  deserve  punishment  accordingly." 


286 


THE    MERRY   MOIfARCH  J 


Another  illustrious  member  of  this  School,  which  con- 
cerned itself  more  with  the  essentials  than  the  acci- 
dentals of  religious  faith,  was  Benjamin  Whichcote, 
1610-1GS3,  who,  as  Provost  of  King's  College,  strongly  im- 
pressed his  own  mode  of  thought  and  form  of  belief  both 
upon  the  rising  generation  of  students  and  his  own  col- 
leagues in  the  administration  of  the  University.  Principal 
Tulloch  speaks  of  him,  in  slightly  exaggerated  language, 
as  the  founder  of  "the  new  school  of  philosophical 
theology,"  though  this  school  is  known  chiefly  by  the 
works  of  more  copious  writers.  "Like  many  eminent 
teachers,  his  personality  and  the  general  force  of  his 
mental  character  were  obviously  greater  than  his  mental 
productiveness.  A  few  volumes  of  his  sermons  are  nearly 
all  that  survive  of  his  labours  to  help  us  to  understand 
them.  Yet  his  sermons,  comparatively  neglected  as  they 
have  been,  are  among  the  most  thoughtful  in  the  English 
language,  pregnant  with  meaning,  not  only  for  his  own, 
but  for  all  time."  They  are  comprised  in  four  volumes, 
and  undoubtedly  deserve  the  reader's  most  careful  atten- 
tion ;  but  of  higher  interest,  we  think,  are  the  gems  of 
crystallised  thought  which  are  known  as  his  "  Moral  and 
Eeligious  Aphorisms." 

Tillotson,  in  his  funeral  sermon,  thus  draws  his  char- 
acter : — 

"  A  godlike  temper  and  disposition  (as  he  was  wont  to 
call  it)  was  what  he  chiefly  valued  and  aspired  after,  that 
universal  charity  and  goodness  which  he  did  continually 
preach  and  practise.  His  conversation  was  exceeding 
kind  and  afPable,  grave  and  winning,  prudent  and  profit- 
able. He  was  slow  to  declare  his  judgment,  and  modest 
in  delivering  it.     Never  passionate,  never  peremptory — so 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


287 


far  from  imposing  upon  others  that  he  was  rather  apt  to 
yield.     And  although  he  had  a  most  profound  and  well- 
poised  judgment,  yet  he  was  of  all  men  I  ever  knew  the 
most  patient  to  hear  others  differ  from  him,  and  the  most 
easy  to  be  convinced  when  good  reason  was  offered ;  and, 
which  is  seldom  seen,  more  apt  to  be  favourable  to  another 
man's  reason   than  his  own.     Studious   and   inquisitive 
men,"  he  adds,  "  at  such  an  age  (at  forty  or  fifty,  at  the 
utmost)  have  fixed  and  settled  their  judgments  on  most 
points,  and,  as  it  were,  made  their  last  understanding  - 
supposing  that  they  have  thought,  or  read,  or  heard  what 
can  be  said  on  all  sides  of  things ;  and  after  that  they 
grow  positive  and  impatient  of  contradiction.     But  our 
deceased  friend  was  so  wise  as  to  be  willing  to  leave  to  the 
last,  knowing  that  no  man  can  grow   wise  without  some 
change  of  his  mind— without   gaining   some   knowledge 
which  he  had  not,  or  correcting  some  error  which  he  had 
before.     He  had  attained  so  perfect   a   mastery   of  his 
passions  that  for  the  latter  and  greater  part  of  his  life  he 
was  hardly  ever  seen  to  be  transported  with  anger,  and, 
as  he  was  extremely  careful  not  to  provoke  any  man,  so 
as  not  to  be  provoked  by  any ;  using  to  say,  '  If  I  provoke 
a  man,  he  is  the  worse  for  my  company ;  and  if  I  suffer 
myself  to  be  provoked  by  him,  I  shall  be  the  worse  for 
his.'     He  was  a  great  encourager  and  kind  director  of 
young  divines,  and  one  of  the   most   candid  hearers  of 
sermons,  I  think,  that  ever  was.  . .  He  never  spoke  well  of 
himself,  nor  ill  of  others.  .  .  In  a  word,  he  had  all  those 
virtues,  and  in  a  high  degree,  which  an  excellent  temper, 
great  condescension,  long  care  and  watchfulness  over  him- 
self, together  with  the  assistance  of  God's  grace  (which 
he  continually  implored  and  mightily  relied  upon)  are  apt 


288 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


to  produce.  Particularly  lie  excelled  in  tlie  virtues  of 
conversation,  liumanitj  and  gentleness  and  humility,  a 
prudent  and  peaceable  and  reconciling  temper." 

We  quote  a  few  specimens  of  Whichcote's  aphorisms  : — 

"  Heaven  iB  first  a  temper,  and  then  a  place." 

"The  reason  of  our  mind  is  the  best  instrnment  we  have  to  work  withal." 
"  There  is  nothing  more  nnnatural  to  religion  than  contentions  about  it."^ 
"  It  is  not  good  to  live  in  jest,  since  we  must  die  in  earnest." 
«'  It  is  inconsistent  with  any  kind  of  honesty  and  virtue  to  neglect  and 
despise  all  kind  of  religion.'* 

"  Nothing  is  more  specific  to  man  than  capacity  of  religion,  and  sense  of 
God." 

"We  are  all  of  us  at  times  in  a  fool's  paradise,  more  or  less,  as  if  all  were 
our  own,  all  as  we  would  have  it." 

"  Let  him  that  is  assured  he  errs  in  nothing,  take  upon  him  to  condemn 
every  man  that  errs  in  anything.'* 

"  I  have  always  found  that  such  preaching  of  others  hath  most  com- 
manded my  heart  which  hath  most  illuminated  my  head."  * 

The  Kestoration  brought  small  gain  to  the  ''  inspired 
tinker,'^  John  Bunyan,  whose  influence  on  the  religious 
mind  of  England  has  been  infinitely  greater  than  that  of 
all  the  divines  at  whom  we  have  thus  briefly  glanced.  He 
was  committed  to  prison  in  November,  1660,  on  the 
charo-e  of  preaching  in  several  conventicles  in  the  country, 
to  the  great  disparagement  of  the  government  of  the 
Church  of  England.  For  three  months  he  lay  in  Bedford 
gaol,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time,  as  he  refused  to  con- 
form, was  re-imprisoned.  Owing  to  his  contumacy,  he 
was  left  out  of  the  general  gaol-delivery  which  marked  the 
coronation  of  Charles  II.  His  wife  made  three  appeals 
on  his  behalf  to  the  Judges,  pleading  that  she  had  four 
small  children,  unable  to  help  themselves,  one  of  whom 

*  Whichcote's  "  Aphorisms  "  seem  to  have  suggested  the  "  Guesses  at 
Truth." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


289 


was  blind,  and  that  she  and  they  had  nothing  to  live  upon 
but  the  charity  of  good  people.   It  was  in  vain.   "  I  found 
myself,"  said   Bunyan,    "encompassed   with   infirmities. 
The  parting  with  my  wife  and  poor  children  hath  often 
been  to  me  in  this  place  as  the  pulling  of  the  flesh  from 
the  bones,  and  that  not  only  because  I  am  somewhat  too 
fond  of  these  great  mercies,  but  also  because  I  should 
have  often  brought   to   my  mind  the   many   hardships, 
miseries,  and  wants  that  my  poor  family  was  like  to  meet 
with  should  I  be  taken  from  them,  especially  my  poor 
blind  child,  who  lay  nearer  my  heart  than  all  besides. 
Oh,  the  thoughts  of  the  hardships  I  thought  my  poor 
blind  one  might  go  under  would  break  my  heart  to  pieces. 
'  Poor  child,'  thought  I,  '  what  sorrow  art  thou  like  to 
have  for  thy  portion  in  this  world !  Thou  must  be  beaten, 
must  beg,  suffer  hunger,  cold,  nakedness,  and  a  thousand 
calamities,  though  I  cannot  now  endure  the  wind  should 
blow  upon  thee.' " 

For  eleven  years  Bunyan  lay  in  Bedford  gaol,  not  obtain- 
ing his  release  until  March,  1672,  when,  by  royal  pro- 
clamation, Nonconformists  were  allowed  to  assemble  for 
worship  under  their  licensed  ministers.  His  imprison- 
ment, however,  bore  glorious  fruit.  The  solitude  of  his 
dungeon  was  peopled  by  his  fervid  genius  and  all-ab- 
sorbing devotion  with  a  crowd  of  immortal  figures, 
which  he  arranged  in  such  a  manner  as  to  represent 
the  successive  scenes  of  a  new  and  striking  allegory. 
Transferring  his  visions  to  paper,  he  produced  for  the 
eternal  delight  and  instruction  of  his  fellows  (in  1678) 
the  first  part  of  '^The  Pilgrim's  Progress  from  this 
World  to  that  which  is  to  Come,  delivered  under  the 
similitude  of  a  Dream,  wherein  is  discovered  the  Manner 

VOL.    II.  w 


290 


THE    MEEEY  MONARCH; 


of  Ms  Setting  Out,  his  Dangerous  Journey,  and  Safe 
Arrival  at  the  Desired  Country."  That  such  a  book 
should  be  written,  and  eagerly  received  by  the  people, 
in  the  Eestoration  period,  is  a  convincing  proof  that  the 
national  heart  remained  sound  at  the  core,  in  spite  of 
the  baleful  influences  of  a  profligate  Court. 

There  is  a  Shakespearian  touch  about  "  The  Pilgrim's 
Progress"   in  the  multiplicity   of   the   characters  intro- 
duced, their  variety,  their  distinct  individualisation,  and 
the    appropriateness   of   the   language    and    sentiments 
allotted  to  them.    No  one  who  has   read  the  book   will 
ever  forget  the  sharp  portraiture  and  vivid  presentment 
of  Mr.  Facing-both-Ways,  Mr.  Pliable,  Mr.  Worldly  Wise- 
man   Talkative,  Hopeful,  and  half  a  hundred  other  actors 
in  the  stirring  drama.    As  Macaulay  says,  in  Ms  well- 
known  criticism,  "  The  mind  of  Bunyan  was  so  imagma- 
tive   that    personifications,   when  he   dealt  with    them, 
became  men.     All  the  forms  which  cross  or  overtake  the 
pilgrims,  giants,  and  hobgoblins,   illfavoured  ones,  and 
shining  ones,  the  tall,  comely,  swarthy  Madam  Bubble, 
with  her  great  purse  by  her  side,  and  her  fingers  playing 
with  the  money,  the  black  man  in  the  bright  vesture,  Mr. 
Worldly  Wiseman  and  my  Lord  Hategood,  Mr.  Talkative, 
and  Mr.  Timorous,  all  are  actually  existing  beings  to  us. 
We  follow  the  travellers  through  their  allegorical  progress 
with  interest  not  inferior  to  that  with  which  we  foUow 
Elizabeth  from  Siberia  to  Moscow,  or  Jeanie  Deans  from 
Edinburgh  to  London.    Bunyan  is  almost  the  only  writer 
who  ever  gave  to  the  abstract  the  interest  of  the  concrete.^' 
But  to  criticise    "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress "  now-a-days 
would  be  an  impertinence.     It  has  become  a  part  of  the 
living  literature  of  the  people,  and  much  of  it  has  entered 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


291 


into  and  been  incorporated  with  their  daily  talk.     "  In 
the  wildest  parts  of  Scotland  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  is 
the  delight  of  the  peasantry.     In  every  nursery  the  Pil- 
grim's   Progress   is   a    greater  favourite   than  Jack  the 
Giant-Killer.      Every    reader    knows    the    straight    and 
narrow  path  as  well  as  he  knows   a   road  in    which  he 
has  gone  backward  and  forward  a  hundred  times.     This 
is  the  highest  miracle  of  genius,  that  things  which  are 
not  should  be  as  though  they  were,   that  the  imagina- 
tions of  oue  mind  should  lessen  the  personal  recollections 
of  another.     And  this  miracle  the  tinker  has  wrought. 
There  is  no  ascent,  no  declivity,  no  resting-place,  no  turn- 
stile, with  which  we  are  not  perfectly  acquainted.     The 
wicket  gate,  and  the  desolate  swamp  which  separates  it 
from  the  City  of  Destruction,  the  long  line  of  road,  as 
straight  as  a  rule  can  make  it,  the  Interpreter's  house  and 
all  its  fine    shows,    the  prisoner  in  the   iron   cage,   the 
palace,  at  the  doors  of  which  armed  men  kept  guard,  and 
on  the  battlements  of  which  walked  persons  clothed  all  in 
gold,   the   cross   and  the  sepulchre,  the  steep  hill  and  the 
pleasant  arbour,  the  stately  front  of  the  House  Beautiful 
by  the  wayside,  the  chained  lions  crouching  in  the  porch, 
the  low  green  valley  of  Humiliation,  rich  with  grass  and 
covered  with  flocks,  all  are  as  well  known  to  us  as  the 
siirhts  of  our  own  street." 

Bunyan's  allegory  of  "The  Holy  War,"  less  human 
than  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  but  grander  in  concep- 
tion, and  more  poetical,  was  published  in  1682  ;  and  in 
1684,  the  year  before  Charles  II. 's  death,  appeared  the 
second  (and  inferior)  part  of  "  The  Pilgrim's  Progress," 
in  which  is  described  the  heavenward  progress  of  the 
Pilgrim's  wife  and  seven  children.     Bunyan  died  on  the 


292 


THE   MERET  MONARCH  ; 


3l8t  of  August,  1688.  His  autobiographical  work, 
"Grace  abounding  to  the  Chief  of  Sinners,"  is  a 
curiously  interesting  study  in  psychology,  which  must 
carefully  be  read  by  all  who  would  know  what  manner 
of  man  John  Bunyan  really  was. 

One  of  the  greatest  Uterary  names  of  the  period  is  that 
of  Thomas  Hobbes.    He  was  the  son  of  a  clergyman,  and 
was  born  at  Malmesbury,  in  Wiltshire,  in  April,  1588, 
the  year  of  the  Spanish  Armada.     His  long  life  covered 
three  generations,  and  was  protracted  through  the  reigns 
of  Elizabeth,  James  I.,  Charles  I.,  and  Charles  II. ;  he 
died  on  the  4th  of  December,  1679.     It  was  seventy-six 
years  since,  a  lad  of  fifteen,  he  had  entered  Magdalene 
Hall,  Oxford.     In  1608,  a  young  man  of  high  promise,  he 
became  tutor  to  the  eldest  son  of  the  Earl  of  Devonshire, 
and  travelled  with  him  in  Prance  and  Italy.     On  his 
return  to  England,  with  a  mind  enlarged  and  matured  by 
experience  of  men  and  manners,  he  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Lord  Bacon,  Ben  Jonson,  and  Lord  Herbert  of 
Cherbury.     In  1628  he  published  a  translation  of  Thucy- 
dides,   designed  as  a  counterblast  against  the   evils   of 
popular  government.     From  1634  to  1636  he  was  abroad 
with  the  young  Earl  of  Devonshire,  the  son  of  his  former 
pupil;  and  from  1636  to  1641,  when  he  retired  to  Paris, 
be  was  domesticated  with  the  Devonshire  family  in  their 
stately  home  at  Chatsworth.     In  1642  appeared  his  first 
great  philosophical  work,    « Elementa  Philosophica  de 
Cive,"  a  defence  of  absolutism  as  the  best  form  of  govern- 
ment.    Five  years  later  he  was  made  tutor  to  the  Prince 
of  Wales,  afterwards  Charles  II.     During  the  Common- 
wealth his  genius  reached  its  ripest ;  and  he  published, 
in  1651,  his  magnum  opus,  the  celebrated  "Leviathan; 


OR,   ENGLAND   TJNDEB  CHARLES   11.  293 

or.  The  Matter,  Form,  and  Power  of  a  Commonwealth, 
Ecclesiastical  and  Civil,"  which  he  caused  to  be  tran- 
scribed on  vellum  for  presentation  to  his  royal  pupil.    He 
was  afterwards  involved  in  a  hot  controversy  with  Dr. 
John  Wallis,  Savilian  Professor  of  Geometry  at  Oxford, 
who   made  short  work  of  Hobbes's  pretension  to  have 
squared  the  circle,  and  proved  that  a  "  great  philosopher  " 
may  be  a  sorry  mathematician.    In  1675,  Hobbes  himself 
demonstrated  that  he  may  also  be  an  indifferent  poet,  by 
publishing  a  dull  and  tedious  translation  of  the  Iliad  and 
Odyssey  into  English  verse.    In  the  year  of  his  death, 
the  indefatigable  nonagenarian   gave  to  the  world  his 
« Behemoth ;    or.    The   History    of  the    Civil  Wars    of 
England,  and  of  the  Counsels  and  Artifices  by  which  they 
were  carried  on,  from  the  year  1640  to  the  year  1660." 
It  may  be  noted,  in  passing,  that  in  this  book  Hobbes  re- 
commends to  the  reader  the  popular  religious  manual, 
which,  under  the  title  of  «  The  Whole  Dnty  of  Man  laid 
down  in  a  Plain  and  Familiar  Way,"  was  first  published 
in  1659.     Its  authorship  has  been  attributed  to  a  dozen 

different  persons. 

«  The  Leviathan  "  is  one  of  those  classic  masterpieces 
which  everybody  admires  and  few  people  read.  It  is 
divided  into  four  parts-1.  Of  Man;  2.  Of  a  Common- 
wealth ;  3.  Of  a  Christian  Commonwealth  ;  4.  Of  the 
Kingdom  of  Darkness.  In  the  first  part  «  man's  nature  " 
is  defined  as  "  the  sense  of  his  natural  powers ; "  while 
his  mental  powers  are  classified  as  "  cognitive,"  « ima- 
ginative," or  «  conceptive,"  and  "  motive."  Our  senses 
receive  impressions  from  external  objects,  with  which 
they  deal  by  means  of  the  cognitive  faculty.  According 
as  they  are  produced  by  the  senses  our  conceptions  rise  in 


If 


294 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


295 


quick  succession,  and  we  give  names  to  them  as  an  assist- 
ance to  our  memory.  All  knowledge  is  of  two  kinds  : 
original,  which  we  owe  to  memory  and  observation ;  and 
science,  which  is  the  knowledge  of  names  and  propositions 
derived  from  understanding.  Both,  in  reality,  amount  to 
nothing  more  than  experience ;  the  experience  which  we 
obtain  from  external  objects,  the  experience  which  we 
acquire  from  the  proper  use  of  names  in  language. 

Hobbes  goes  on  to  contend  that  truth  and  a  true  propo- 
sition are  absolutely  identical,  and  that  knowledge  is  the 
evidence  of  truth  ;  while  he  defines  conscience  as  a  man's 
belief    in  the  veracity  of  that  which  he   asserts.     The 
motive  powers   are,  he  says,  those  of  the  heart,  acted 
upon  and  influenced  by  the  impressions  received  through 
the  senses.    All  concei^tions  are  brain-motives  originating 
without.     When  they  encourage  and  stimulate  the  vital 
movement,  they  are   called,  and  the   objects   producing 
them  are  called,  pleasant ;   when  they  retard  or  depress 
it,  they  are  described  as  painful.    The  former  are  objects  of 
love  or  liking;  the  latter,  of  dislike  or  aversion  ;  and  every 
man  calls  that  which  pleases  him  good,  and  that  which 
he  dislikes  evil.      Absolute  goodness,  that  is,  goodness 
without  relation  or  proportion,  is  impossible.     Things  can 
only  be  relatively  good ;  even  the  goodness  of  God  being 
His  goodness  to  us  simply  as  we  understand  and  receive 

it. 

Upon  these  cardinal  principles  or  hypotheses,  Hobbes 

erects  what  is  known  as  the  Selfish  system  of  philosophy, 

which  makes  our  notions  of  right  or  wrong  depend  upon 

our  views  of  self-interest— assuming   that   every  man's 

self-love  is  the  mainspring  of  his  thoughts,  feelings,  and 

actions.      Pity  is    '^imagination  or  fiction    of     future- 


calamity  to    ourselves,   proceeding    from    the    sense   of 
another  man's  calamity ;  that  when  it  lighteth  on  such 
as  we  think  have  not  deserved  the  same,  the  compassion 
is  greater,  because  then  there  appeareth  more  probability 
that  the   same   may  happen  to  us  ;   for  the   evil  that 
happeneth  to  an  innocent  man  may  happen  to  every  man. 
But  when  we  see  a  man  suffer  for  great  crimes,  which  we 
cannot  easily  think  will  fall  upon  ourselves,  the  pity  is 
the  less.      And  therefore  men  are  apt  to  pity  those  whom 
they  love  ;  for  whom  they  love  they  think  worthy  of  good, 
and  therefore  not  worthy  of  calamity.     Thence  it  is  also 
that  men  pity  the  vices  of  some  persons  at  the  first  sight 
only,  out  of  love  to  their  aspect.     The  contrary  of  pity  is 
hardness   of  heart,  proceeding  either   from  slowness   of 
imagination,  or  some  extreme  great  opinions  of  their  own 
exemption  from  the  like  calamity,  or  from  hatred  of  aU 
or  most  men."     A  similar  exposition  is  furnished  of  the 
other  passions.     To  love,  for  example,  is  ascribed  a  purely 
selfish  motive ;  it  is  simply  the  desire  of  a  certain  object 
for  our  own  gratification.     And  when  we  laugh,  it  is  from 
a  sense  of  our  superiority  to  somebody. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  this  is  a  mean  and  servile 
philosophy,  which  strikes  at  the  root  of  all  that  is  purest, 
brightest,  best  in  human  nature.  In  his  work,  "  De  Corpore 
Politico,"   Hobbes  applies  it  to  the  body  politic.    He 
affirms  the  natural  equality  of  men,  and  their  right  to  an 
equal  possession  of  all  things,  as  distinctly  as  the  most 
ardent  Socialist.     But  he  goes  on  to  argue  that,  differmg 
as  they  do  in  strength  and  passions-and  each  thinking 
well  of  himself,  though  detesting  the  same  egotism  when 
it  is  manifested  in  others^they  necessarily  fall  into  con- 
tention.   In  his  natural  liberty  the  state  of  man  is  a  state 


296 


THE   MEREY   MONARCH; 


of  war,  and  irresistible  might  becomes  right.   Self-defence 
compels  him  to  the  adoption  of  civil  institutions  ;  and  he 
sacrifices    some   of  his  rights  in  order  to  preserve  the 
others.     Might  being  right  in  the  state  of  nature,  one 
man  might  acquire  the  right  of  conquest  over  another, 
just  as  men  have  done  over  the  lower  animals.    Conquest, 
or  else  mutual  agreement,  has  led  to  the  establishment  of 
various  systems  of  government,  such  as  the  monarchical, 
aristocratical,  and  democratical.     To   Hobbes  the  mon- 
archical seemed  to  offer  the  most  advantages,  or,  perhaps, 
it  would  be  more  correct  to  say,  the  fewest  disadvantages. 
The  philosophy  of  Hobbes,  with  its  materialistic  tenden- 
cies in  morals  and  its  absolutist  deductions  in  politics,  has 
been  attacked  by  numerous  able   controversialists,  from 
Cudworth  and  Lord  Shaftesbury  to  Bishop  Butler,  Lord 
Kaimes,  and  Dugald  Stewart.     Its  unsoundness  is  now 
admitted ;  but  all  critics  agree  in  admiring  the  strength 
and  clearness  with  which  Hobbes  has  developed  it  in  his 
writings.     Believing    that  these   exercised   an   injurious 
influence,  we  do  not  think  Hume  was  too  severe  in  his 
condemnation  of  them.      Their  politics,   he   said,   were 
fitted   only  to   encourage   tyranny;   their  ethics   to   en- 
courage licentiousness.     He  adds,  however,  that  "  though 
an  enemy  to  religion,  Hobbes  partakes  nothing  of  the 
spirit  of  scepticism,  but  is  as  positive  and  dogmatical  as  if 
human  reason,  and  his  reason  in  particular,  could  obtain  a 
thorough  conviction   on  these   subjects.     Clearness   and 
propriety  of  style  are  the  chief  excellences  of  Hobbes's 
writings."     Let  it  be  noted,  moreover,  that  the  philoso- 
pher's   mind    was    essentially  strong,   independent,  and 
original ;  that  he  owed  nothing  to  any  predecessor ;  that 
all  his  coin  was  stamped  in  his  own  mint.    The  metal  was 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


297 


not  without  grievous  alloy,  but  the  die  was  sharply 
wrought  and  the  impression  clean  cut.  It  is  one  of  the 
special  merits  of  a  book  like  "The  Leviathan"  that  it 
forces  its  readers  to  think  for  themselves ;  since  we  are 
apt  to  degenerate  into  a  sleepy  and  languid  state  of  mind 
if  we  read  always  to  acquiesce  and  never  to  dispute. 

That   form  of    literary   composition  known   as    "  The 
Essay  "  Bacon  was  the  first  to  introduce  and  popularise. 
It  was  adopted  in  the  early  days  of  the  Kestoration  by 
Abraham  Cowley,  the  poet,  whose  "  Essays,"  in  style  and 
matter,  are  inferior  only  to  those  of  his  great  predecessor. 
Headers    acquainted   with    Cowley's    poems,    and    their 
elaborate  and  involved  diction,  overloaded  with  conceits, 
inversions,  and  ellipses,  will  certainly  be  surprised  by  the 
direct   and  forcible   simplicity   of    his   prose,   which    he 
manages    with    masterly  ease.      Among  the   essays  we 
should  select  those  on  Solitude,  Liberty,  the  Garden,  and 
the  Uncertainty  of  Eiches,  as  the  best. 

In  this  connection  may  be  mentioned  Izaak  Walton's 
charming  work,  "  The  Compleat  Angler  ;  or,  Contemplative 
Man's  Recreation,"  which  is  simply  a  collection  of  short 
essays  on  rural  scenes  and  enjoyments,  on  Nature  and 
the  delights  of  Nature,  thrown  into  conversational  form. 
Deservedly,  it  is  one  of  the  most  popular  books  in  the 
language  ;  one  of  those  which  establish  themselves  in  a 
permanent  place  in  our  literature  by  right  of  their  in- 
dividuality.     The   style   is   exquisitely  harmonious   and 
transparent;   the   descriptions   are  not  less   vivid  than 
accurate  ;   the  illustrations  picturesque  ;   the  reflections 
spontaneous,  just,  and  healthy;  while  the  book  is  every- 
where saturated  with  a  deep,  warm,  unaffected  love  of 
Nature,  which  bubbles  up  in  almost  every  sentence  and 


298 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


brims  over  in  every  page.  "  What  would  a  blind  man 
give,"  he  says,  ''to  see  the  pleasant  rivers  and  meadows 
and  flowers  and  fountains  that  we  have  met  with  since  we 
met  together  !  I  have  been  told  that  if  a  man  that  was 
born  blind  could  obtain  to  have  his  sight  for  but  only  one 
hour  during  his  whole  life,  and  should  at  the  first  opening 
of  his  eyes,  fix  his  sight  upon  the  sun  when  it  was  in  full 
glory,  either  at  the  rising  or  setting  of  it,  he  would  be  so 
transported  and  amazed,  and  so  admire  the  glory  of  it, 
that  he  would  not  willingly  turn  his  eyes  from  that  first 
ravishing  object  to  behold  all  the  other  various  beauties 
this  world  would  present  to  him.  And  this  and  many 
other  like  blessings  we  enjoy  daily."  To  one  in  city  pent, 
Walton's  book  will  bring  the  fresh  sweet  odours  of  the 
hawthorn  hedges,  and  the  meek  beauty  of  the  cowslips, 
and  the  music  of  the  murmuring  stream. 

For  manly,  vigorous,  and  affluent  English  prose,  a  better 
model  could  hardly  be  desired  than  that  which  Dryden 
furnishes  in  his  '' Critical  Essays  "  and  "Prefaces."  It 
is  to  be  remembered  that  Fox,  the  statesman,  when 
writing  his  "History  of  England,"  would  employ  no 
word  which  Dryden  had  not  used;  and  that  Burke  speaks 
of  his  style  with  warm  approval.  English  criticism,  as 
an  act,  dates  from  1668,  when  Dryden  published  his 
**  Essay  on  Dramatic  Poesy."  The  sharpness  of  his  per- 
ception and  the  solidity  of  his  judgment  may  be  seen  in 
Ms  "  Discourse  on  the  Original  and  Progress  of  Satire," 
and  in  his  critical  dissertations  generally.  Here  is  a  speci- 
men : — "  I  looked  on  Virgil  as  a  succinct  and  grave 
majestic  writer ;  one  who  weighed  not  only  every  thought, 
but  every  word  and  syllable;  who  was  still  aiming  to 
<5rowd  his  name  into  as  nan-ow  a  compass  as  possibly  he 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


299- 


could;  for  which  reason  he  is  so  figurative  that  he  re- 
quires—I may  almost  say— a  grammar  apart  to  construe 
him.  His  verse  is  everywhere  sounding  the  very  thing 
in  your  ears  whose  sense  it  bears,  yet  the  numbers  are 
perpetually  varied  to  increase  the  delight  of  the  reader, 
so  that  the  same  sounds  are  never  repeated  twice  to- 
gether." 

In  Macaulay's  opinion,  Sir  William  Temple  (born  in 
1628)  was  one  of  those  men  "whom  the  world  has  agreed 
to  praise  highly  without  knowing  much  about  them,  and 
who  are  therefore  more  likely  to  lose  than  to  gain  by  a 
close  examination.     Yet,"  he  adds,  "  he  is  not  without 
fair  pretensions  to  the  most  honourable  place  among  the 
statesmen  of  his  time.     A  few  of  them  equalled  or  sur- 
passed him  in  talents  ;  but  they  were  men  of  no  good 
repute  for  honesty.  A  few  maybe  named  whose  patriotism 
was  purer,  nobler,  and  more  disinterested  than  his ;  but 
they  were  men  of  no  eminent  ability.     Morally,  he  was 
above  Shaftesbury ;  intellectually,  he  was  above  Russell. 
...     A  temper  not  naturally   good,  but  under    strict 
command  ;  a  constant  regard  to  decorum ;  a  rare  caution 
in  playing  that  mixed  game  of  skill  and  hazard,  human 
Ufe  ;  a  disposition  to  be  content  with  small  and  certain 
winnings  rather  than  to  go  on  doubling  the  stake  ;  these 
seem  to  us  to  be  the  most  remarkable  features  of   his 

character." 

His  diplomatic  and  political  services  belong  to  the 
province  of  the  historian  ;  we  shall  here  consider  him 
only  as  the  man  of  letters.  Johnson,  with  exaggerated 
praise,  refers  to  him  as  "the  first  writer  who  gave 
cadence  to  English  prose ;''  an  assertion  implying  the 
greatest  possible  ignorance  of,  or  want  of  sympathy  with, 


^00 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


Bishop  Jeremy  Taylor,  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  Cowley,  and 
Dryden.      He  was,  however,  a  regular,  fluent,  and  per- 
spicuous writer,  who  adopted  the  fashionable  essay  form 
for  the  presentment  of  his  sound  and  generally  judicious 
observations  on  subjects  which  he  had  carefully  studied. 
His  *'  Essay  upon  the  Ancient  and  Modern  Learning,"  in 
which  he  took  the  side  of  the  Ancients,  provoked  a  long 
and  bitter  controversy,  from  an  unfortunate  allusion  to 
the  supposed   literary  merits  of  the  Greek  "Epistles  of 
Phalaris."  Bentley  immediately  pounced  upon  the  mistake, 
proved  with  ease  that  the  Epistles  were  a  forgery,  and 
terribly  mauled  Temple  for  his  unhappy  display  of  ignor- 
ance.    Temple,  to  be   sure,  found  ingenious  and  capable 
defenders  in  Pope,  Conyers  Middleton,  Dr.  Garth,  and 
Swift,  the  last  of  whom    came  to  his  patron's  assistance 
with  his  celebrated  satire,  "  The  Battle  of  the  Books." 
But  if  the  wits  had    the  temporary  advantage,  the  even- 
tual victory,  and  the  honour  of  it,  were  with  the  scholar. 
This  famous  literary  quarrel,  however,  occurred  after  the 
Kevolution. 

In  Dryden's  preface  to  his  best  tragedy,  ^*  All  for 
Love,"  he  remarks,  that  in  this  play  he  had  endeavoured  to 
follow  the  practice  of  the  Ancients,  who,  as  Mr.  Eymer 
has  judiciously  observed,  are,  and  ought  to  be,  our 
masters.  Thomas  Eymer,  to  whom  this  flattering  allu- 
sion is  made,  was  born  about  1638;  educated  at  North- 
allerton Grammar  School  and  at  Cambridge;  studied 
law ;  and  became  a  member  of  Gray's  Inn.  He  was  one 
of  the  first  and  ablest  of  the  critics  who  endeavoured  to 
restrain  the  exuberant  genius  of  English  literature  within 
the  trammels  of  the  French  methods;  and  in  1678  he 
published  "  The  Tragedies  of  the  last  Age  Considered  and 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


301 


Examined  by  the  Practice  of  the  Ancients,  and  by  the 
Common  Sense  of  all  Ages."     In  this  critical  essay  he 
proposes     to     consider     and      examine     Shakespeare's 
"Othello"  and   "Julius  Caesar,"   Ben  Jonson's   "  Cata- 
lina,"  and  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  RoUo,"  "  King  and 
No  King,"  and  '^Maid's  Tragedy ;  "  but  his  remarks  are 
really  confined  to  the  three  last-named,  and  the  spirit  in 
which  they  are    conceived    may  be  inferred  from   the 
writer's  crudely  impertinent  assertion  that  "  our  poetry 
of  the  last  age  "  was  "  as  rude  as  our  architecture,"  and 
his  reference  to  Milton's  great  epic  as  "  that '  Paradise 
Lost '  of  Milton  which  some  are  pleased  to  call  a  poem." 
His  "  Short  View  of  Tragedy,"  marked  by  equal  inepti- 
tude, appeared  in  1693.     Had  he  done  no  worthier  work 
than  these  mistaken  criticisms  and  a  bad  play  ("  Edgar; 
or,  the  English  Monarch  "),  he  would  not  be  noticed  here ; 
but  he  rendered  an  important  service  to  historical  litera- 
ture by  the  diligence  and  care  with  which  he  carried  out 
the  design  of  Montague  and  Lord  Somers  for  collecting 
and  publishing,  under  the  title  of  "  Foedera,  Conventiones, 
et  cujuscunque  generis  Acta  Publica  inter  Eeges  Anglia3  et 
Alios  Principes,"  the  official  documents  relating  to  the 
transactions  between  England  and  other  States.     Seven- 
teen folio  volumes  of  this  valuable  work  were  edited  by 
Eymer  between  1703  and  1714,  the  year  in  which  he  died. 
The  English    representative  of    Neo    Platonism,    Dr. 
Henry   More,  belongs  to    the   Eestoration  period.     He 
was  born  at  Grantham,  in  Lincolnshire,  in  1614;  received 
his  earlier  education  at  Eton ;  and  was  thence  removed  to 
Christ's  College,  Cambridge,  where  he  obtained  a  fellow- 
ship.     Eeading  Plato  eagerly,  he  followed  up  this  line  of 
study  by    devouring    the    so-called    "New  Platonists,'* 


302 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


Plotinus  and  lambliclms,  with  their  refined  mysticisms, 
and  the  Florentine  Platonists,  until  he  completely 
saturated  his  mind  with  the  form  of  religious  philosophy 
now  known  as  Christian  Platonism.  He  was  only  twenty- 
eight  when  he  published  his  "Wvx(^^^a  Platoniea;  or,  a 
Platonical  Song  of  the  Soul,"  in  four  books,  which  he  re- 
issued, in  1647,  with  prefaces  and  interpretations,  under 
the  title  of  "  Philosophical  Poems."  These  are  four  in 
number :— 1.  "  Psychozia  ;  "  or,  "  The  Life  of  the  Soul ;  " 
2.  "  Psychathanasia ; "  or,  "The  Immortality  of  the 
Soul  j  "  to  which  is  annexed  a  metrical  ''Essay  upon  the 
Infinity  of  Worlds  out  of  Platonical  Principles;"  3. 
"  Antipsychopannychia  ;  a  Confutation  of  the  Sleep  of 
the  Soul  after  Death,"  to  which  is  appended  "  The  Pre- 
Existency  of  the  Soul,"*  and  4.  "  Antimonopsychia ; 
a  Confutation  of  the  Unity  of  Souls,"  with  a  ''  Para- 
phrase upon  Apollo's  Answer  concerning  Plotinus  his  Soul 
departed  this  life." 

These  poems  are  written  throughout  in  the  Spenserian 
stanza,  but,  unfortunately,  are  destitute  of  the  exquisite 
Spenserian  imagery  and  music.  There  are  occasional 
fine  passages ;  but  the  verse  is  generally  rugged,  involved, 
and  barren,  while  the  meaning  could  hardly  be  got  at  but 
for  the  notes  and  interpretations  supplied  by  More  him- 
self. His  aim,  however,  as  stated  in  his  opening  stanzas, 
was  lofty  enough : — 

"  Not  ladies'  loves,  nor  knights'  brave  martial  deeds, 
Y wrapt  in  rolls  of  live  antiquities  ; 
But  th'  inward  fountain,  and  the  unseen  seeds, 
From  whence  are  these,  and  what  so  under  eye 
Dost  fall,  or  is  record  in  memorie, 

*  *'  The  fanciful  theory  which  su^'gested  Wordsworth's  grand  ode  on 
*  The  Intimations  of  Immortality  in  Childhood.' " 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II.         303 

Psyche,  I'll  sing.     Psyche !  from  thee  they  spring. 
O  life  of  Time  and  all  Alterity ! 
Thy  life  of  lives  instil  his  nectar  strong, 
My  soul  t'  inebriate  while  I  sing  Psyche's  song. 

My  task  is  not  to  try 

What's  simply  true.     I  only  do  engage 
Myself  to  make  a  fit  discovery. 
Give  some  fair  glimpse  of  Plato's  hid  Philosophy. 

What  man  alive  that  hath  but  common  wit 
(When  skilful  limner  seeing  hia  intent 
Shall  fairly  well  portray  and  wisely  hit 
The  true  proportion  of  each  lineament. 
And  in  right  colours  to  the  life  depaint 
The  fulvid  eagle  with  her  sun-bright  eye), 
Would  waxen  wroth  with  inward  choler  brent 
Cause  'tis  no  buzzard  or  discoloured  Pie  ? 
Why  man  ?     I  meant  it  not :  cease  thy  fond  obloquie. 

So  if  what's  consonant  to  Plato's  school 
(Which  will  agree  with  learned  Pythagore, 
Egyptian  Trismegist,  and  th'  antique  roll 
Of  Chaldee  wisdom,  all  which  Time  hath  tore, 
But  Plato  and  deep  Plotin  do  restore), 
Which  is  my  scope,  I  sing  out  lustily  : 
If  any  twitten  me  for  such  strange  lore, 
And  me  all  blameless  brand  with  infamy, 
God  purge  that  man  from  fault  of  foul  malignity." 

Occasionally  a  genuine  pearl  gleams  among  Mora's 
elaborate  imitations,  and  we  come  upon  a  happy 
thought  not  unhappily  expressed.  As  in  the  following 
examples : — 

"  If  light  divine  we  know  by  divine  light, 
Nor  can  by  any  other  means  it  see. 
This  ties  their  hands  from  force  that  have  the  sprite." 

"  By  this  the  sun's  bright  waggon  'gain  ascend 

The  western  hill,  and  draw  on  cheerful  day ; 

So  I  full  fraught  with  joy  do  homeward  wend 

And  fend  myself  with  what  that  Nymph  did  say, 

And  did  so  cunningly  to  me  convey, 

Kesolving  for  to  teach  all  willing  men 

Life's  mystery,  and  quite  to  chase  away 

Mind-mudding  mist  sprung  from  low  fulsome  fen, 
Praise  my  good  will,  but  pardon  my  weak  falt'ring  pen." 


804 


THE   MEREY   MONARCH; 


•*  I  saw  portrayed  on  thia  eky-oolotired  silk 
Two  lovely  lads  with  wings  fully  dispread 
Of  silver  plumes,  their  skin  more  white  than  milk, 
Their  lily  limbs  I  greatly  admired, 
Their  cheery  looks  and  lusty  livelihed  : 
Athwart  their  snowy  breast  a  scarf  they  wore 
Of  a  pure  hue.'* 

"  But  yet,  my  Muse,  still  take  a  higher  flight, 
Sing  of  Platonic  faith  in  the  first  Good, 
The  faith  that  doth  our  souls  to  God  invite 
So  strongly,  tightly,  that  the  rapid  flood 
Of  this   swift-flux  of  things,  nor  with  foul  mud 
Can  stain,  nor  strike  us  o£E  from  th'  unity, 
Wherein  we  steadfast  stand,  unshaked,  unmoved, 
Engrafted  by  a  deep  vitality, 
The  prop  and  stay  of  things  in  God's  benignity." 

At  one  period  of  his  life  More  deceived  himself  into  the 
belief  that  he  had  had  a  singular  vision,  which,  under  the 
name  of  Bathjnous,  he  afterwards  described  in  his 
"Divine  Dialogues."  He  is  discussing  with  his  com- 
panions the  subject  of  the  Divine  goodness,  when  he  in- 
forms them  that  in  his  youth  he  had  a  strange  dream  of 
*'  an  old  man  with  a  grave  countenance  speaking  to  him 
in  a  wood."     He  is  urged  to  tell  his  dream,  and  does  not 

object : — 

"  You  must  know,  then,  of  what  an  anxious  and 
thoughtful  genius  I  was  from  my  very  childhood,  and 
what  a  deep  and  strong  sense  I  had  of  the  existence  of 
God,  and  what  an  early  conscientiousness  of  approving 
myself  to  Him ;  and  how,  when  I  had  arrived  to  riper 
years  of  reason,  and  was  imbued  with  some  slender  rudi- 
ments  of  philosophy,  I  was  not  then  content  to  think  of 
God  in  the  gross  only,  but  begun  to  consider  His  nature 
more  distinctly,  accurately,  and  to  contemplate  and  com- 
pare His  attributes  ;  and  how,  partly  from  the  natural 
sentiments  of  my  own  mind,  partly  from  the  countenance 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


305 


and  authority  of  Holy  Scripture,  I  did  confidently  con- 
clude that  infinite  power,  wisdom,  and  goodness  were  the 
chiefest  and  most  comprehensive  attributes  of  the  Divine 
Nature,  and  that  the  sovereign  of  those  was  His  good- 
ness, the  summit  and  power,  if  I  may  so  speak,  of  the 
Divinity.  In  the  meantime,  being  versed  in  no  other 
natural  philosophy  nor  metaphysics,  but  the  vulgar,  my 
mind  was  for  a  long  time  charged  with  inextricable 
puzzles  and  difficulties,  to  make  the  phenomena  of  the 
world  and  vulgar  opinions  of  men  in  any  tolerable  way  to 
comport  or  suit  with  these  two  chiefest  attributes  of  God, 
His  wisdom  and  His  goodness.  These  meditations  closed 
mine  eyes  at  night ;  these  saluted  my  memory  at  first  in 
the  morning  ;  these  accompanied  my  remote  and  solitary 
walks  into  fields  and  woods,  sometimes  so  early  as  when 
most  of  other  mortals  keep  their  beds. 

"  It  came  to  pass,  therefore,  that  one  summer  morning 
having  rose  much  more  early  than  ordinary,  and  having 
worked  so  long  in  a  certain  wood  (which  I  had  a  good 
while  frequented)  that  I  thought  fit  to  rest  myself  on  the 
ground,  having  spent  my  spirits  partly  by  long  motion  of 
my  body,  but  mainly  by  want  of  sleep,  and  over-anxious 
and  solicitous  thinking  of  such  difficulties,  as  Hylobares 
[one  of  the  interlocutors]  either  has  already,  or,  as  I 
descried  at  first,  is  likely  to  propose;  I  straightway 
reposed  my  weary  limbs  amongst  the  grass  and  flowers  at 
the  foot  of  a  broad-spread  and  flourishing  oak,  where  the 
gentle  fresh  morning  air  played  in  the  shade  on  my 
heated  temples,  and  with  unexpressible  pleasure  refriger- 
ating  my  blood  and  spirits,  and  the  industrious  bees 
busily  humming  round  about  me  upon  the  dewy  honey- 
suckles ;    to   which   nearer  noise   was  most  melodiously 

VOL.  II.  ^ 


306 


THE   MEERY   MONARCH  ; 


joined  tlie  distant  singing  of  tlie  cheerful  birds  re-echoed 
from  all  parts  of  the  wood ;    these  delights  of  nature  aU 
conspiring  together,  you  may  easily  fancy,  would  quickly 
charm  my  weary  body  into  a  profound  sleep.     But  my 
sonl  was  then  as  much  as  ever  awake,  and,  as  it  seems, 
did  most  vividly  dream  that  I  was  still  walking  in  these 
solitary  woods   with   my  thoughts   more  eagerly  intent 
upon  those  usual  difficulties   of    providence  than  ever. 
But  while  I  was  in  this  great  anxiety  and  earnestness  of 
spirit,  accompanied   (as   frequently  when  I   was  awake) 
with  vehement  and  devout  suspirations  and  ejaculations 
towards  God,  of  a  sudden  there  appeared  at  a  distance  a 
very  grave  and  venerable  person  walking  slowly  towards 
me.     His  stature  was    greater  than  ordinary.     He  was 
clothed  with  a  loose  silk  garment  of  a  purple  colour,  much 
like  the  Indian   gowns  that  are  now  in  fashion,  saving 
that  the  sleeves  were  something  longer  and  wider ;  and 
it  was  tied  about  him  with  a  Levitical   girdle  also  of 
purple  ;  and  he  wore  a  pair  of  velvet  slippers  of  the  same 
colour,  but  upon  his  head  a  Montero  of  black  velvet,  as  if 
he  were  both  a  traveller  and  an  inhabitant  of  that  place 

at  once. 

"  While  he  was  at  any  distance  from  me,  I  stood  fear- 
less and  unmoved;  only,  in  reverence  to  so  venerable  a 
personage,  I  put  off  my  hat,  and  held  it  in  my  hand. 
But  when  he  came  up  closer  to  me,  the  vivid  full  force  of 
his  eyes  that  shone  so  piercingly  bright  from  under  the 
shadow  of  his  black  Montero,  and  the  whole  air  of  his 
face,  though  joined  with  a  wonderful  deal  of  mildness  and 
sweetness,  did  so  of  a  sudden  astonish  me,  that  I  fell  into 
an  excessive  trembling,  and  had  not  been  able  to  stand  if 
he  had  not  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head,  and  spoken  com- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


307 


fortably  to  me,  which  he  did  in  a  paternal  manner, 
saying, — '  Blessed  be  thou  of  God,  my  son ;  be  of  good 
courage,  and  fear  not ;  for  I  am  a  messenger  of  God  to 
thee  for  thy  good.  Thy  serious  aspires  and  breathings 
after  the  true  knowledge  of  thy  Maker  and  the  ways  of 
His  providence  (which  is  the  most  becoming  employment 
of  any  rational  being),  have  ascended  into  the  sight  of 
God ;  and  I  am  appointed  to  give  into  thy  hands  the  two 
keys  of  Providence,  that  thou  mayest  thereby  be  able  to 
open  the  treasures  of  that  wisdom  thou  so  anxiously  and 
yet  so  piously  seekest  after  ! '  And  where  withal  he  put 
his  right  hand  into  his  left  sleeve,  and  pulled  out  two 
shining  bright  keys— the  one  silver,  the  other  of  gold, 
tied  together  with  a  sky-coloured  ribbon  of  a  pretty 
breadth— and  delivered  them  into  my  hands,  which  I 
received  of  him,  making  low  obeisance,  and  professing 
my  thankfulness  for  so  great  a  gift." 

By  this  time,  he  continues,  he  had  acquired  a  confidence 
and  familiarity  which  enabled  him  to  converse  with  the 
venerable  figure  that  had  appeared  to  him.  Having 
received  into  his  hands  the  silver  key,  he  was  instructed 
to  observe  the  letters  written  on  it,  which,  arranged  in  an 
intelli^'ible  order,  proved  to  be  Claude  /mstras,  ut  luceat 
domus.  Then,  gasping  in  his  hand  the  lower  part  of  the 
key,  he  pulled  at  the  handle  with  his  right,  and  behold, 
a  silver  tube  came  forth,  with  a  scroll  of  thin  paper- 
thin,  but  as  strong  as  vellum,  and  as  white  as  driven 
snow.  On  this  scroll  was  drawn  a  representation  of  the 
motions  of  the  planetary  bodies  round  the  sun,  and  of 
the  starry  hemispheres,  on  the  principles  of  the  Copernican 
system.  His  attention  was  next  drawn  to  the  motto  of 
the   golden  key,   which  was    a    "treasurer    of   itself,'' 


308 


THE    MEREY   MONAECH  ; 


namely,  Amor  Dei  Lux  Animoe,  A  golden  tube  with  a 
similar  scroll  presented  itself  when  the  handle  of  the  key 
was  pressed  a  second  time  ;  and  on  this  scroll  was  written 
twelve  sentences,  in  letters  of  gold,  to  the  following 
effect :—"  Divine  Goodness  is  commensurate  with  Divine 
Providence  or  Infinite ;  Time  and  Space—'  the  thread  of 
time  and  the  expansion  of  the  universe  '—proceed  from  a 
benevolent  Deity  ;  Intellectual  Spirits  rejoiced  with  God 
before  creation ;  in  a  world  of  free  agents,  sin  must  be  a 
possibility;  but  happiness  exceeds  sin  and  miseiy  'as 
much  as  the  light  exceeds  the  shadows  /  "  He  was  pro- 
ceeding with  his  analysis  of  these  divine  sentences,  when 
he  was  rudely  interrupted  by  the  braying  of  two  asses— 
an  unconscious  touch  of  satire  !— and  the  radiant  vision 
of  the  grave  and  aged  person,  the  keys  of  silver  and  gold, 
and  the  glorious  parchment  suddenly  disappeared,  leaving 
him  seated  at  the  foot  of  the  oak,  where  he  had  fallen 
asleep,  with  an  ass  on  each  side  of  him ! 

"  We  confess,"  says  Tulloch,  ''  that  we  are  somewhat 
at  a  loss  to  understand  the  moral  of  this  singular  inter- 
ruption of  his  vision,  the  ludicrous  absurdity  of  which 
strikes  us  at  first  more  than  anything  else  ;  unless  it  be 
intended,  as  he  himself  half  hints,  to  signify  the  indif- 
ferent noisiness  with  which  the  world,  and  even  the 
Church,  often  receive  and  interrupt  the  speculations  of  a 
higher  thoughtf  ulness,  striving  to  read,  from  the  charac- 
tered scroll  of  nature  and  life,  the  mysteries  of  being. 
More  professes  that  the  completed  vision  would  have  been 
too  much  for  him,  and  that  he  was  more  gratified  at 
things  happening  as  they  did  than  if  he  had  been  all  at 
once  put  in  possession  of  truth— the  continued  search  for 
which  had  been  to  him  a  repeated  and  prolonged  pleasure. 


OE,    ENGLAND   TJNDEE   CHAELES   II. 


309 


''One   of  the    speakers,   'a   zealous    but    airy-minded 
Platonist  and  Cartesian,  or  Mechanist,'  suggests  that  the 
object  of  the  vision  was  not  merely  to  attest  the  Coper- 
nican  system   of  the  world,  but  the  truth  of  Descartes' 
principles.      But  More,  in  the  name  of  Bathynous,  repu- 
diates this  view  on  the  ground  that  he  espied  in  one  of 
the  sentences,  or  aphorisms  of  the  golden  key,  which  he 
had  not  time  to  read  in  full,  the  statement,  '  That  the 
primordials  of   the  world  are  not  mechanical,  but  sper- 
matical,  or  vital,  which,^  he  adds,  '  is  diametrically  and 
fundamentally  opposite  to  Descartes'  philosophy.'     He  is 
convinced  further,  that,  if  he  had   had  full   conference 
with  the  divine  sage  he  would  have  found  his  philosophy 
'  more  Pythagorical,  or  Platonical,  than  Cartesian.     For 
there  was  also  mention  of  the  senimal  soul  of  the  world, 
which  some  modern    writers  call  the   spirit  of  nature.' 
The  aphoristic   revelations,  both  of  the   silver  and  the 
golden  key,  gave   rise  to  a  great  deal  more  discussion 
amongst  the    friends  assembled  in  Caphophron's  'philo- 
sophical  bower '-a    delightful    retreat    of    the    ^airy- 
minded   Platonist'— with  the  cool  evening  summer  air 
'  fanning  itself  through  the  leaves  of  the  harbour,'  and  a 
'frugal^collation'   spread  —  ^  a  cup  of  wine,  a  dish  of 
fruit,  and  a  manchet.'       The  rest  was  made  up  with  'free 
discourses  in  philosophy.'       The  picture  is   a   pleasant 
one,  if  the   dialogue  is   sometimes  tiresome;    and  the 
whole  vision  and  description  are  strikingly  illustrative  of 
the  dreamy  ideal  and  enthusiasm  with  which  the  young 
Platonist  pursued  his  studies  and  inquiries." 

More's  poems,  as  we  have  said,  were  first  published  in 
1642.  Three  years  before— that  is,  in  1639— he  had 
taken  his  Master's  degree,  and  immediately  afterwards 


310 


THE   MEEEY   MONARCH; 


was  chosen  Fellow  of  Ws  college.  He  was  offered  the 
mastership  in  1654,  but  declined  it  in  favour  of  Cud  worth. 
In  the  lettered  seclusion  of  Christ's  College,  this  pro- 
found, if  somewhat  visionary,  thinker  lived  and  died. 
His  noble  friends,  and  he  had  many,  begged  of  him  to 
accept  preferment,  but  he  refused.  "Pray  not  be  so 
morose/'  said  one  of  these  would-be  patrons ;  "  pray  be 
not  so  morose  or  humoursome  as  to  refuse  all  things  you 
have  not  known  so  long  as  Christ's  College."  One  day 
his  friends  led  him  with  much  persuasion  as  far  as  White- 
hall, in  order  that  he  might  kiss  the  King's  hand  ;  but 
when  he  understood  that  the  condition  of  his  so  doing  was 
the  acceptance  of  a  bishopric,  "he  was  not  on  any 
account  to  be  persuaded  to  it." 

Among  More's  most  intimate  friends  was  a  former 
pupil  of  his.  Lady  Conway,  and  at  her  seat  at  Eugby,  in 
Warwickshire,  he  spent  much  of  his  leisure.  There  he 
made  the  acquaintance  of  two  remarkable  men,  who  must 
not  be  omitted  from  our  picture  of  the  men  of  the 
Restoration — Baron  Yon  Helmont  and  Valentine  Great- 
rakes.  The  former,  the  son  of  the  famous  Flemish 
chemist  and  necromancer,  inherited  much  of  his  father's 
genius,  but  more  of  his  enthusiasm  and  wild  extravagance. 
He  devoted  himself,  heart  and  soul,  to  the  occult  studies 
which  had  such  an  attraction  for  the  inquirers  of  his 
time,  and  lived  for  a  while  in  Lady  Conway's  family  as 
her  physician.  Greatrakes  was  a  man  of  more  mark. 
His  wonderful  cures  were  the  talk  of  the  seventeenth 
century;  they  were  formally  investigated  by  the  Royal 
Society,  and  seem  to  have  convinced  men  like  Henry 
More  and  Judge  Glanville,  both  of  whom  have  specially 
adverted  to  them.     Greatrakes  was  an  Irish  gentleman. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


311 


who  at  first  used  his  singular  powers  with  reluctance, 
but  becoming  convinced  of  their  efficacy  tried  them  upon 
aU  who  sought  his  healing  aid.      His  mode  of  operation 
consisted  merely  in  laying  his  hands  upon  the  sick,  and 
"  stroking  "  them.      In  January,  1666,  the  Earl  of  Orrery 
invited  him  to  England  to  attempt   the  cure   of  Lady 
Conway  of  the  chronic  headache  from  which  she  suffered, 
but  he  did  not  succeed ;  however,  while  at  Rugby  he  healed 
many  other    persons.       From    Rugby   he    removed    to 
Worcester,  and  thence  to  London,  where  he  practised  his 
strange  art  for  many  months.     "  At  the  coffee-houses  and 
everywhere,"  wrote  a  friend  ("  a  person  of  great  veracity 
and  a  philosopher ")  to  Glanville,  "  the  great  discourse 
now  is'  about   Mr.   G.,   the  famous  Irish   stroker.     He 
undergoes  curious  censures  here ;   some  take  him  to  be  a 
conjurer,  and  some  an  impostor,  but  others,  again,  adore 
him  as  an  apostle.      I  confess,  I  think  the  man  is  free 
from  all  design,  of   a  very  agreeable   conversation,   not 
addicted  to  any  vice,  nor  to  any  sect  or  party  ;  bat  is,  I 
believe,  a  sincere  Protestant.     I  was  three  weeks  together 
with  him  at  my  Lord  Conway's,  and  saw  him  (I  think) 
lay  his  hands  upon  a  thousand  persons  ;  and  really  there 
is  something  in  it  more  than  ordinary ;  but  I  am  con- 
vinced 'tis  not  miraculous.    I  have  seen  pains  strangely 
fly  before  his  hand  till  he  hath  charmed  them  out  of  the 
body ;  dimness  cleared  and  deafness  cured  by  his  touch  ; 
twenty  persons  at  several  times,  in  fits  of  the  falling- 
sickness,  were  in  two  or  three  minutes  brought  to  them- 
selves    so  as  to  tell  where  their  pain  was ;  and  then  he 
hath  pursued  it  till  he  hath  driven  it  out  at  some  extreme 
part;    running  sores  of  the  king's  evil  dried  up,  and 
kernels  brought  to  a  puration  by  his  hand." 


312 


THE    MEREY   MONARCH  ; 


In  1666  was  published  "A  brief  account  of  Mr. 
Valentine  Greatrakes,  and  divers  of  the  strange  cures  by 
him  performed ;  written  by  himself,  in  a  letter  to  the 
Hon.  Eobert  Boyle,  Esq.,  whereunto  are  arranged  the 
testimonials  of  several  eminent  and  worthy  persons  of 
the  chief  matters  of  fact  there  related."  Thereafter  he 
passed  away  into  oblivion. 

To  return  to  More.  For  thirty-five  years,  or  from  1642 
to  1687,  his  literary  activity  was  immense,  and  he  pro- 
duced so  large  a  number  of  pamphlets  and  treatises,  small 
and  great,  that  we  have  not  room  enough  for  their  titles. 
We  may  mention  his  "  Threefold  Cabbala,"  a  triple  inter- 
pretation of  the  three  first  chapters  of  Genesis;  his 
"  Antidote  against  Atheism,"  his  essay  on  the  "  Immor- 
tality of  the  Soul,"  and  his  treatises  on  the  "  Grand 
Mystery  of  Godliness,"  and  the  "  Mystery  of  Iniquity." 
But  the  only  attractive  one,  according  to  modern  ideas,  is 
the  ''Divine  Dialogues,"  which  Dr.  Blair  has  rightly 
described  as  animated  "  by  a  variety  of  character  and  a 
spriglitliness  of  conversation  beyond  what  we  commonly 
meet  with  in  writings  of  this  kind."  Principal  TuUoch 
says  of  them  that  they  are  upon  the  whole  the  most 
interesting  and  readable  of  all  Morels  works.  "The 
current  of  thought  runs  along  smoothly,  with  less 
tendency  than  in  any  of  his  other  writings  to  digressive 
absurdity  and  wearisome  subdivisions ;  the  style  is  here 
and  there  fresh  and  powerful ;  and  there  is  not  only  some 
liveliness  of  movement  in  the  successive  conversations, 
but  an  attempt  is  made,  as  Blair  implies,  to  impart  a 
definite  portraiture  to  the  several  speakers,  and  to  pre- 
serve throughout  their  individuality  and  consistency.  .  .  . 
The  '  Divine  Dialogues,^  moreover,  possess  for  the  common 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


313 


reader  the  advantage  of  condensing  his  general  views  in 
philosophy  and  religion.  In  fact,  most  of  his  principles 
may  be  gathered  from  them." 

Our  English  Platonist  lived  to  a  good  old  age.    He 
died  on  the   1st  of  September,  1687,  having  numbered 
three-and-seventy  years.      For  ourselves,  we  should  say 
that  there  is  much  more  to  interest  the  student  in  his 
character  than  in  his  writings,  which  never  exerted  any 
influence  on  the   national   mind,  or  his   theo sophistical 
system,  which  we  can  regard  only  with  a  languid  curiosity. 
As  a  man,  he  was  well  fitted  to  engage  the  attention  of 
the   psychologist.     Devout   mystics   of  his  exalted  type 
have  been  rare  in  England,  the  home  of  an  eminently 
practical  religion ;  and  the  idiosyncrasies  of  our  race  are 
.opposed  to  the  cultivation  of  an  ascetic  pietism.      But 
More  lived  always  in  an  atmosphere  of  pure  devotion  and 
serene  contemplation.    So  great  was  his  spiritual  happiness 
that  at  times  he  seems  to  have  been  almost  overwhelmed 
by  it.     He  told  a  friend  that  he  was  sometimes  nearly 
mad  with  pleasure ;    and  this  excitement  he  felt  in  the 
simplest  circumstances.      "Walking    abroad    after   his 
studies,  his  sallies  towards  Nature  would  be  often  inex- 
pressibly  ravishing,  beyond  what  he   could   convey  to 

others." 

His  love  of  rural  sights  and  sounds,  his  delight  in  the 
beauty  of  God's  visible  world,  is  manifested  in  several 
passages  in  his  writings,  and  more  particularly  in  his 
"Dialogues."  He  often  said  that  he  wished  he  could 
always  be  "  sub  dio  "— "  he  could  study  abroad  with  less 
weariness  by  far  to  himself  than  within  doors."  His 
mental  excitation,  the  rapture  he  felt  in  his  own  thoughts, 
sometimes  prevailed  over  his  judgment.      He  felt,  to  use 


314 


THE    MEEBY   MONARCH; 


Ms  own  words,  as  if  his  iniiid  went  faster  tlian  lie  almost 
desired,  and  all  the  while  he  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  be  in 

the  air. 

It  was  "  this  mystical  glow  and  devotion  "  which  dis- 
tinc^uished  his  mind  and  character ;  "  a  certain  transport 
and  radiancy  of  thought  which  carried  him  beyond  the 
common  life,  without  raising  him  to  any  false  or  artificial 
height."  His  contemporaries  noted  that  there  was  some- 
thing "  angelical  "  in  his  very  air.  ''  He  seemed  to  be 
full  of  introversions  of  light,  joy,  benignity,  and  devotion 
at  once— as  if  his  face  had  been  overcast  with  a  golden 
shower  of  love  and  purity."  The  marvellous  "  lustre  and 
irradiation"  in  his  eyes  and  countenance  were  noticed 
even  by  strangers.  ''A  divine  gale,"  as  he  himself 
phrased  it,  inspired  his  life  not  less  than  his  written 
utterances ;  but  it  purified  while  it  elevated  him,  and  he 
was  never  a  victim  to  spiritual  pride.  Dr.  Outram  said 
"  that  he  looked  upon  Dr.  More  as  the  holiest  person  upon 
the  face  of  the  earth."  Not  less  conspicuous  than  his 
piety  was  his  charity  and  humility.  "  His  very  chamber- 
door  was  a  hospital  to  the  needy."  "When  the  winds 
were  ruffling  about  him,  he  made  it  his  utmost  endeavour 
to  keep  low  and  humble,  that  he  might  not  be  driven 
from  that  anchor."  It  is  pleasant  to  remember  that  such 
a  man  as  this  was  the  contemporary  of  Eochester,  and 
Buckingham,  and  Sedley.  He  restores  our  pride  and  con- 
fidence in  the  higher  qualities  of  our  race,  and  shows  that 
even  in  the  reign  of  Charles  11.  the  honour  of  England 
was  sound  at  the  core. 

It  is  not  within  our  province  to  explain  his  system,  if 
system  it  can  be  called,  of  Christian  theosophy,  or  to 
attempt  a  detailed  criticism  of  his  writings.     This  has 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


315 


been  done  with  admirable  care  and  success  by  Principal 
TuUoch  in  his  "  Rational   Theology  in   England  in  the 
Seventeenth  Century."     We  confess  that  le  jeu  does  not 
seem  worth  la  chandelle.     There  are  beautiful  thoughts 
and  bright,  radiant  passages  ;    but  to  arrive  at  these,  the 
weary  student  has  to  find  his  way  through  dreary  tracts 
of  involved  and  barren  mysticism.     As  Dr.  Tulloch  avers, 
More's  works  "  do  not  exhibit  any  clear  growth  or  system 
of  ideas,  unfolding  themselves  gradually,  and   maturing 
to    a    more    comprehensive    rationality.       This  lack  of 
method  is    more   or   less    characteristic    of   the  school; 
but  the  multifarious  character  of  More's  writings  render 
it  more  conspicuous  in  him  than  in  the  others.     Not  only 
so.      In  his  later  productions  there  is  rather  a  decay  than 
an    increase   and  enrichment  of  the   rational   element. 
To  enter  into  any  exposition  of  his  Cabbalistical  studies— 
of  his  discovery  of  Cartesianism  in  the  first  chapters  of 
Genesis,  and  his  favourite  notion  of  all  their  philosophy 
descending  from  Moses  through   Pythagoras  and  Plato ; 
and   still  more  to   touch  his  prophetical  reveries— the 
divine  science  which  he  finds  in  the  dream  of  Ezekiel  or 
the  visions  of  the  Apocalypse— would  be  labour  thrown 
away,  unless  to  illustrate  the  weakness  of  human  genius, 
or  the  singular  absurdities  which  beset  the   progress  of 
knowledge,   even  in   its    most    favourable   stages.     The 
supposition  that  all  higher  wisdom  and  speculation  were 
derived  originally  from  Moses  and  the  Hebrew  Scriptures, 
and  that   it    was    confirmatory  both    of    the   truth    of 
Scripture  and  the  results  of  philosophy  to  make  out  this 
traditionary   connection,   was    widely  prevalent   in    the 
seventeenth   century.      It   was    warmly    supported   and 
elaborately  argued  by  some  of  its  most  acute  and  learned 


316 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


317 


lit 

Hi 


intellects.  Both  Cudworth  and  More  profoundly  believed 
in  this  connection.  But  this  was  only  one  of  many 
instances  of  their  lack  of  critical  and  historical  judg- 
ment. Historical  criticism,  in  the  modern  sense,  was  not 
even  then  dreamed  of;  and  it  is  needless  to  consider 
forgotten  delusions  which  have  perished,  rather  with  the 
common  growth  of  reason  than  by  the  force  of  any  special 
genius  or  discovery.'^  * 

A  philosophical  work  of  some  learning  which  appeared 
in  1669-1675  was  the    "Court  of  the   Gentiles"  of  the 
Nonconformist  divine.  Dr.  Theophilus  Gale  (1628-1678), 
written  with  a  view  to  prove  that  all  heathen  philosophy, 
whether    barbaric   or    Greek,    was    borrowed    from   the 
Scriptures,  or  at  least  from  the  Jews.      The  first  part  is 
entitled  *^0f  Philosophy,"  and  traces  the  same  leading 
principle  by  means  of  language;   the  second,  "  Of  Philo- 
sophy ;  "  the  third,  of  "  The  Vanity  of  Philosophy  ; "  and 
the  fourth,  of  "Eeformed  Philosophy,"  wherein  "  Plato's 
moral  and  metaphysic  or  prime  philosophy  is  reduced  to 
an  usual   form  and  method."     Gale  has   been   included 
among  the  Platonic  philosophers,  and,  indeed,  he  himself 
affirms  that  his  philosophy  bears  a  close  resemblance  to 
that  of  Plato.     But  he  is  in  all  respects  a  rigid  Calvinist, 

•  "  More  "  says  Hallam,  "  fell  not  only  into  the  mystical  notions  of  the 
later  Platonists,  but  even  of  the  Cabalistic  writers.  His  metaphysical 
philosophy  was  borrowed  in  great  measure  from  them ;  and  though  he  waa 
in  correspondence  with  Descartes,  and  enchanted  with  the  new  views  that 
opened  upon  him,  yet  we  find  that  he  was  reckoned  much  less  of  a 
Cartesian  afterwards,  and  even  wrote  against  parts  of  the  theory.  The 
most  peculiar  touch  of  More  was  the  extension  of  spirit ;  acknowledging 
and  even  striving  for  the  soul's  immateriality,  he  still  could  not  conceive  it 
to  be  unextended.  Yet  it  seems  evident  that  if  we  give  extension  as  well 
as  figure,  which  is  implied  in  finite  extension,  to  the  single  self-conscioua 
nomad,  qualities  as  heterogeneous  to  thinking  as  material  impenetrability 
itself,  we  shall  find  it  in  vain  to  deny  the  possibility  at  least  of  the  latter. 
Some  indeed  might  question  whether  what  we  call  matter  is  any  real 
being  at  all,  except  as  extension  under  pecoliar  conditions." —Hallam, 
"  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe,"  iv.,  68. 


and  does  not  hesitate  to  say,  "  Whatever  God  wills  is  just, 
because  He  wills  it ; "  and  again,  "  God  wiUeth  nothing 
without  Himself  because  it  is  just,  but  it  is  therefore  just 
because  He  wiUeth  it.  The  reasons  of  good  and  evil 
extrinsic  to  the  Divine  essence  are  all  dependent  on  the 
Divine  will,  either  decurrent  or  legislative."  This  is  not 
writing  which  Plato  would  have  endorsed. 

The°poIitical  romance  of  "  Oceana  "  was  published  in 
1656,  but  its  author,  James  Harrington,  lived  far  into  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.     Born  in  1611,  he  died  in  1677.     He 
was  a  native  of  Northamptonshire,  and  studied  at  Oxford, 
where  he  came  under  the   direction   of   the  celebrated 
Chillingworth.     Afterwards  he  travelled  on  the  Continent 
for  several  years,  and  during  his  residence  at  the  Hague 
and  at  Venice  became  a  convert  to  the  theory  and  practice 
of  Eepublican  government.     While  at  Rome  he  attracted 
attention  by  his  refusal,  at  some  public  ceremony,  to  kiss 
the  Pope's  toe  ;   but  he  afterwards   excused  himself  to 
Charles  I.  on  the  ingenious  plea  that  "having  had  the 
honour  of  kissing  his  Majesty's  haad,  he  thought  it  a  de- 
gradation to  kiss  the  toe  of  any  other  monarch." 

His  "Oceana"  is  based  on  the  lines  of  Sir  Thomas 
More's  "  Utopia,"  and  is  designed  to  present  the  model 
of  a  commonwealth  so  constructed  as  to  secure  the  com- 
pletest  freedom  for  every  individual  member  of  it.  He 
maintains  that  all  power  depends  upon  property,  and 
more  particularly  upon  landed  property.  He  would,  there- 
fore, have  the  balance  of  lands  fixed  by  an  agrarian  law, 
and' the  government  established  on  an  equal  agrarian 
basis,  rising  into  the  superstructure,  or  three  orders— tha 
senate,  which  would  debate  and  propose ;  the  people,  who 
would  resolve  and  decide ;  and  tlie  magistracy,  who  would 


318 


THE   MERRY    MONARCH; 


execute— the  said  magistracy  being  elected  by  an  equal 
rotation  tbrougli  the  suffrage  of  the  people  given  by 
ballot.  After  the  Restoration  Harrington's  measures  for 
the  establishment  of  a  Republican  propaganda  awakened 
the  hostility  of  Charles  II.'s  government.  He  was  arrested 
on  a  charge  of  treasonable  practices,  and  thrown  into 
prison ;  from  which  he  was  released  on  showing  signs  of 
mental  derangement.  Though  a  Republican,  Harrington 
was  not  a  democrat ;  his  "  Commonwealth  of  Oceana  " 
is,  in  fact,  based  on  the  principle  of  a  moderate  aristocracy, 
and  he  himself  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  Venetian 
oligarchy.  "  If  I  be  worthy/'  he  says,  "  to  give  advice 
to  a  man  that  would  study  politics,  let  him  understand 
Venice;  he  that  understands  Venice  right,  shall  go  nearest 
to  judge,  notwithstanding  the  difference  that  is  in  every 
policy,  right  of  every  government  in  the  world." 

As  a  counterfoil  to  the  *'  Oceana/'  we  may  take  the 
"Patriarcha"  of  Sir  Robert  Fihner,  published  in  1G80, 
but  written  in  the  reign  of  Charles  I.  It  is  an  uncom- 
promising defence  and  vindication  of  the  absolute  power 
of  things ;  denying  the  right  of  natural  government,  and 
the  power  of  the  people  to  choose  their  own  rulers ;  and 
affirming  that  positive  laws  cannot  infringe  or  limit  the 
natural  and  flitherly  power  of  Kings.  In  his  "  Two 
Treatises  of  Government,"  published  in  1G89  and  1690, 
Locke  demolished  Sir  John's  feeble  arguments.  Algernon 
Sidney  was  also  the  author  of  a  refutation,  which  he 
entitled  "  Discourses  on  Government,"  but  they  were  not 
published  until  1698.  His  theory  is  sufficiently  indicated 
in  the  following  passage  :— *'  No  one  man  or  family  is 
able  to  provide  that  wliich  is  requisite  for  their  con- 
venience or  security,  whilst  every  one  has  an  equal  right 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


319 


to  everything,  and  none  acknowledges  a  superior  to  de- 
termine the  controversies  that  upon  such  occasions  must 
continually  arise,  and  will  probably  be  so  many  and  great, 
that  mankind  cannot  bear  them.     Therefore  ....  there 
is  nothing  of  absurdity  in  saying,  that  man  cannot  con- 
tinue in  the  perpetual  and  entire  fruition  of  the  liberty 
that  God  hath  given  him.    The  liberty  of  one  is  thwarted 
by  that  of  another ;  and  whilst  they  are  all  equal,  none 
will  yield  to  any,  otherwise  than  by  a  general  consent. 
This  is  the  ground  of  all  just  governments ;  for  violence 
or  fraud  can  create  no  right  ;  and  the  same  consent  gives 
the  power  to  them  all,  how  much  soever  they  differ  from 
each  other.     Some  small  numbers  of  men,  living  within 
the  precincts  of  one  city,  have,  as  it  were,  cast  into  a 
common   stock  the  right  which  they  had  of  governing 
themselves  and  children,  and,  by  common  consent,  joining 
in  one  body,  exercised  such  power  over  every  single  person 
as  seemed  beneficial  to  the   whole  ;    and  this  men  call 
perfect  democracy.     Others  choose  rather  to  be  governed 
by  a  select  number  of  such  as  most  excelled  in  wisdom 
and  virtue  ;  and  this,  according  to  the  signification  of  the 
word,  was  called  aristocracy  ;  or  when  one  man  excelled 
all  others,  the  government  was  put  into  his  hands,  under 
the  name  of  monarchy.     But  the  wisest,  best,  and  far  the 
greatest  part  of  mankind,  rejecting  those  simple  species, 
did  form  governments  mixed  or  composed  of  the  three, 
which  commonly  received  their  respective  denomination 
from  the  part  that  prevailed,  and  did  deserve  praise  or 
blame  as  they  were  well  or  ill  proportioned. 

"  It  were  a  folly  hereupon  to  say,  that  the  liberty  for 
which  we  contend  is  of  no  use  to  us,  since  we  cannot 
endure  the  solitude,  barbarity,  weakness,  want,  misery. 


320 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


and  dangers  that  accompany  it  whilst  we  live  alone,  nor 
can  enter  into  a  society  without  resigning  it  ;  for  the 
choice  of  that  society,  and  the  liberty  of  framing  it 
according  to  onr  own  wills,  for  our  own  good,  is  all  we 
seek.  This  remains  to  ns  while  we  form  governments, 
that  we  ourselves  are  judges  how  far  it  is  good  for  us  to 
recede  from  our  natural  liberty  ;  which  is  of  so  great 
importance,  that  from  thence  only  we  can  know  whether 
we  are  freemen  or  slaves  ;  and  the  difference  between  the 
best  government  and  the  worst  doth  wholly  depend  on  a 
right  or  every  exercise  of  that  power." 

One  of  the  most  famous  of  the  philosophical  books  of 
the  Eestoration  period  is  the  "  De  Legibus  Naturae  Dis- 
quisitio  Philosophica,"  published  by  Richard  Cumberland, 
afterwards  Bishop  of  Peterborough,  in  1672.  Its  theory  or 
system  of  ethics,  which  has  been  in  vogue  for  nearly  two 
centuries,  differs  essentially  from  that  of  the  theologians, 
who  referred  all  moral  distinctions  to  Eevelation ;  that  of 
the  Plutonic  philosophers,  who  sought  them  in  eternal 
and  intrinsic  relations ;  and  that  of  Hobbes  and  Spinosa, 
who  degraded  them  to  a  matter  of  selfish  prudence.  An 
abstract  of  Cumberland's  great  treatise  is  given  by  the 
Eev.  John  Hunt,  in  his  valuable  "  History  of  Religious 
Thought;"  but  in  the  few  remarks  which  follow  we 
are  indebted  to  Hallam's  analysis. 

A  diligent  observation  of  all  propositions  which  can 
safely  be  regarded  as  general  moral  laws  of  nature  reduces 
them  all  to  one,  the  pursuit  of  the  common  good  of  all 
rational  agents,  which  tends  to  our  own  good  as  part  of 
the  whole,  just  as  its  opposite  tends  not  only  to  the  misery 
of  the  whole  system,  but  to  our  own.  At  first  sight,  he  says, 
this  scheme  may  seem  to  want  the  two  primary  requisites 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


321 


of  a  law,  a  legislator  and  a  sanction.  Bat  whatever  elicits 
the  natural  assent  of  our  minds  must  spring  from  the 
Author  of  Nature.  God  must  necessarily  be  the  author 
of  every  proposition  proved  to  be  true  by  the  constitution 
of  nature,  of  which  He  Himself  is  the  Author.  Nor  is  a 
sanction  wanting  in  the  rewards,  that  is^  the  happiness 
which  attends  the  observance  of  the  law  of  nature,  and 
in  the  opposite  efforts  of  its  neglect ;  and  in  a  lax  sense, 
though  not  that  of  the  jurists,  reward  as  well  as  punish- 
ment may  be  included  in  the  word  sanction.  But  benevo- 
lence, that  is,  love  and  desire  of  good  towards  all  rational 
beings,  includes  piety  towards  God,  the  greatest  of  them 
all,  as  well  as  humanity.  Cumberland  does  not  rely  for 
support  on  arguments  founded  on  revelation  ;  and  Mr. 
Hallam  is,  perhaps,  quite  justified  in  describing  him  as 
the  founder  of  the  Utilitarian  school. 

The  "  common  good,"  and  not  that  portion  of  it  which 
belongs  to  the  individual  man,  is  the  great  end  of  the 
legislator,  and  of  him  who  obeys  his  will.  Those  actions 
which  by  their  natural  tendency  promote  it  may  be  called 
naturally  good,  more  than  those  which  tend  only  to  the 
good  of  any  one  man,  by  how  much  the  whole  is 
greater  than  this  small  part.  And  whatever  is  directed 
in  the  shortest  way  to  this  end  may  be  called  right,  as  a 
right  line  is  the  shortest  of  all.  And  as  the  whole  system 
of  the  universe,  when  all  things  are  arranged  so  as  to  pro- 
duce happiness,  is  beautiful,  being  aptly  disj)Osed  to  its 
end,  which  is  the  definition  of  beauty,  so  particular  actions 
contributing  to  this  general  harmony  may  be  called 
beautiful  and  becoming. 

"Cumberland    acutely   remarks,"    says   Hallam,    ^^  in 

VOL.    II.  Y 


I 


322 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


323 


answer  to  tlie  objection  to  tlie  practice  of  virtue  from  tlie 
evils  which  fall  on  good  men,  and  the  success  of  the 
wicked,  that  no  good  or  evil  is  to  be  considered,  in  this 
point  of  view,  wliich  arises  from  mere  necessity,  or  ex- 
ternal excuses,  and  not  from  our  virtue  or  vice  itself.     He 
then  shows  that  a  regard  for  piety  and  peace,  for  mutual 
intercourse,  and  civil  and  domestic  polity,  tends  to  the 
happiness  of  everyone  ;  and  in  reckoning  the  good  conse- 
quences of  virtuous  behaviour  we  are  not  only  to  estimate 
the  pleasure  intimately  connected  with  it,  which  the  love 
of  God  and  of  good  men  produces,  but  the  contingent 
benefits  we  obtain  by  civil  society,  which  we  promote  by 
such  conduct.     And  we  see  that  in  all  nations  there  is 
some  regard  to  good  faith  and  the  distribution  of  property, 
some  respect  to  the  obligation  of  oaths,  some  attachments 
to  relations  and  friends.  All  men,  therefore,  acknowledge, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  perfonii,  those  things  which  really 
tend  to  the  common  good.  And  though  crime  and  violence 
sometimes  prevail,    yet  these    are   like    diseases  in  the 
body  which  it  sliakes  off ;   or  if,  like  tliem,  they  prove 
sometimes   mortal   to   a   single   community,  yet  human 
society  is  immortal  ;  and  the  conservative  principles  of 
common  good  have  in  the  end  far  more  efficacy  than  those 
which  dissolve  and  destroy  states. 

"  We  may  reckon  the  happiness  consequent  on  virtue 
as  a  true  sanction  of  natural  law  annexed  to  it  by  its 
author,  and  thus  fulfilling  the  necessary  conditions  of  its 
definition.  And  though  some  have  laid  stress  on  these 
sometimes,  and  deemed  virtue  its  own  reward,  and  grati- 
tude to  God  and  man  its  best  motive,  yet  the  consent  of 
nations  and  common  experience  show  us  that  the  ob- 
servance of  the  first  end,  which  is  the  common  good,  will 


not  be  maintained  without  remuneration  or  penal  conse- 
quences. 

"  By  this  single  principle  of  common  good  we  simplify 
the  method  of  natural  law,  and  arrange  its  secondary 
precepts  in  such  subordination  as  best  conduces  to  the 
general  end.  Hence  moral  rules  give  way  in  particular 
cases,  when  they  come  in  collision  with  others  of  more 
extensive  importance.  For  ail  ideas  of  right  or  virtue 
imply  a  relation  to  the  system  and  nature  of  all  rational 
beings.  And  the  principles  thus  deduced  as  to  moral 
conduct  are  generally  applicable  to  political  societies, 
which  in  their  two  leading  institutions,  the  division  of 
property  and  the  coercive  power  of  the  magistrate,  follow 
the  steps  of  natural  law,  and  adopt  these  rules  of  polity, 
because  they  perceive  them  to  promote  the  common  weal." 

Only  one  of  the  ingenious  and  fanciful  works  of  Dr. 
John  Wilkins,  Bishop  of  Chester,  was  published  daring 
the  Eesturation  period, — namely,  his  ^'  Essay  towards  a 
Eeal  Character  and  a  Philosophical  Language,^ ^  which 
bears  the  date  of  16G8, — the  year  in  which  he  was  pro- 
moted to  the  Episcopal  Bench.  Of  this  man  of  lively 
imagination  Bishop  Burnet  speaks  with  unusual  warmth : 
— "  He  was  a  man,"  he  says,  "of  as  great  mind,  as  true 
a  judgment,  as  eminent  virtues,  and  of  as  good  a  soul  as 
any  I  ever  knew.  Though  he  married  Cromwell's  sister, 
yet  he  made  no  other  use  of  that  alliance  but  to  do  good 
offices,  and  to  cover  the  University  of  Oxford  from  the 
sourness  of  Owen  and  Goodwin.  At  Cambridge,  he  joined 
with  those  who  studied  to  propagate  better  thoughts,  to 
take  men  off  from  being  in  parties,  or  from  narrow 
notions,  from  superstitious  conceits  and  fierceness  about 
opinions.    He  was  also  a  great  observer  and  promoter  of 


324 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


experimental  pHlosopliy,  wHch  was  then  a  new  tiling, 
and  much  looked  after.  He  was  naturally  ambitious; 
but  was  the  wisest  clergyman  I  ever  knew.  He  was  a 
lover  of  mankind,  and  had  a  delight  in  doing  good." 

His  most  famous  work  has  had  many  imitators  ;  namely, 
"The  Discovery  of  a  New  World;  or  a  Discourse  tending 
to  prove  that  it  is  probable  there  may  be  another  Habit- 
able World  in  the  Moon  ;  with  a  discourse  concerning  the 
possibility  of  a  Passage  thither/'     In  its  lively  pages  he 
starts  the  proposition  "  that  it  is  possible  for  some  of  our 
posterity  to  find  out  a  conveyance  to  this  other  world,  and 
if  there  be   inhabitants  there,  to   have   commune   with 
them."    To  the  natural  inquiry,  how  we  are  to  ascend 
beyond  the  sphere  of  the  earth's  magnetical  vigour,  he 
answers  : — ''  1.  It  is  not  perhaps  impossible  that  a  man 
may  be    able   to  fly   by  the    application   of    wings   to 
Ms  own  body ;   as  angels  are  pictured,  as  Mercury  and 
Daedalus   are  feigned,  and  as  hath   been   attempted  by 
divers,   particularly   by    a    Turk    in    Constantinople,   as 
Busbequius  relates.     2.  If  there  be  such  a  great  ruck 
(roc)    in  Madagascar  as    Marcus    Polus,   the  Yenetian, 
mentions,  the  feathers  in  whose  wings  are  twelve  feet 
long,  which   can  swoop  up  a  horse  and  his  rider,  or  an 
elephant,  as  our  kites  do  a  mouse  ;   why,  then,  it  is  but 
teaching  one  of  these  to  carry  a  man,  and  he  may  ride 
up  thither,  as  Ganymede  does  upon  an  eagle.      3.  Or, 
none  of  these  ways  will  serve,  yet  I  do  seriously,  and  upon 
good  grounds,  affirm  it  possible  to  make  a  flying  chariot, 
in  which  a  man  may  sit,  and  give  such  a  motion  into  it 
as  shall  convey  him  through  the  air.     And  this,  perhaps, 
might  be  made  large  enough  to  carry  divers  men  at  the 
same  time,  together  with  food  for  their  viaticum,  and  coni- 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


325 


modities  for  traffic.  It  is  not  the  bigness  of  anything  in 
this  kind  that  can  hinder  its  motion,  if  the  motive  faculty 
be  answerable  thereunto.  We  see  a  great  ship  swims  as 
well  as  a  small  cork,  and  an  eagle  flies  in  the  air  as  well 
as  a  little  gnat." 

"This  engine,"  he  adds,  "may  be  contrived  from  the 
same  principles  by  which  Archytas  made  a  wooden  dove, 
and  Regiomontanus  a  wooden  eagle." 

Bishop  Wilkins  also  wrote  a  defence  and  exposition  of 
the  Copernican  system  under  the  title  of  a  '^  Discourse 
concerning  a  new  Planet,  tending  to  prove  'tis  probable 
our  Earth  is  one  of  the  Planets."     He  died  in  1672. 

Dr.  Thomas  Sprat  was  another  of  the  literary  bishops 
of  the  Eestoration.  He  was  born  in  1636,  and  died  in 
1713.  Lord  Macaulay  describes  him  as  "  sl  very  great 
master  of  our  language,  and  possessed  at  once  of  the 
eloquence  of  the  orator,  the  controversialist,  and  the 
historian."  His  birthplace  was  Tallaton,  in  Devonshire, 
where  his  fiither  was  vicar.  He  was  educated  at  Wadham 
College,  Oxford;  took  his  degree  of  M.A.  in  1656;  and 
was  elected  to  a  fellowship  in  1657.  On  the  death  of 
Oliver  Cromwell  he  eulogised  his  virtues  and  his  greatness 
in  a  Pindaric  Ode  ;  but  this  did  not  prevent  him  from 
developing  into  a  fervent  loyalist  after  the  Eestoration, 
and  having  taken  holy  orders,  he  became  chaplain  to  the 
Duke  of  Buckingham,  whom  he  assisted  in  his  production 
of  "The  Rehearsal."  He  was  afterwards  made  one  of 
the  King's  chaplains.  His  close  friendship  with  Dr. 
Wilkins  led  him  to  compile  and  publish  a  "  History  of 
the  Royal  Society,"  in  1667,  of  which  he  had  been  elected 
a  Fellow.  Ecclesiastical  promotion  now  attended  him 
rapidly  :  he  became  a  prebend  of  Westminster  in  1668, 


826 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


327 


Dean  of  Westminster  and  incumbent  of  St.  Marg'aret's 
in  16SS,  and  Bishop  of  Eochester  in  1681.  In  1685  lie 
wrote,  by  command  of  the  King",  a  far  from  impartial 
narrative  of  the  Eye  Hoose  Plot,  under  the  title  of  "A 
True  Account  and  Declaration  of  the  Horrid  Conspiracy 
against  the  late  King,  his  present  Majesty,  and  the 
present  Government."  But  after  the  Eevolution  lie  had 
the  grace,  or  found  it  convenient,  to  publish  an  apology 
for  the  injustice  and  misrepresentation  that  disfigured  it. 
An  attempt  was  made,  in  1691,  to  implicate  him  in  a 
conspiracy  for  restoring  James  II.  ;  but  it  was  easily 
detected,  and  the  authors  were  duly  punished.  The 
Bishop  died  at  Bromley,  in  Kent,  on  the  30th  of  May, 
1713.  He  is  best  remembered  now  by  his  "Life  of 
Cowley." 

Among  the  historians  of  the  Eestoration  period  we  must 
give  the  first  place  to  the  Earl  of  Clarendon. 

Edward  Hyde,  the  son  of  a  Wiltshire  gentleman  of  good 
estate,  was  born  in  1608.  For  several  years  he  pursued  his 
studies  at  Oxford,  with  a  view  to  taking  holy  orders  ;  but 
the  death  of  his  two  elder  brothers  gave  anew  direction  to 
his  career,  and  at  the  age  of  sixteen  he  was  removed  to  Lon- 
don. There  he  studied  law  for  some  years,  diverting  his  lei- 
sure meanwhile  in  the  converse  and  companionship  of  such 
men  as  Ben  Jonson,  Selden,  Lord  Falkland,  Lawes  the  musi- 
cian, Chilling  worth,  Waller,  and  the  "  ever-memorable  " 
John  Hales  of  Eton.  These  he  considered  to  have  taught 
him  more  than  his  books ;  and  he  affirms  that  "  he  never 
was  so  proud,  or  thought  himself  so  good  a  man,  as  when  he 
was  the  worst  man  in  the  company."  Entering  the  House 
of  Commons  in  1640,  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  "  fierce 
delights^' of  parliamentary  strife.  Not  without  hesitation, 


for  his  political  principles  were  really  those  of  a  moderate 
Constitutionalist,  he  attached  himself  to  the  Eoyal  party, 
and  became  one  of  Charles  L's  most  trusted  advisers,  was 
nominated  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  and  received  the 
honour  of  knighthood.     A  couple  of  years  were  spent  in 
retirement  and  lettered  ease  in  the  island  of  Jersey;  after 
which,  in    1618,  he    joined  Prince  Charles  in  Holland. 
Passing  briefly  over  his  embassy  to  Spain,  we  find  him 
late  in  1651  attached  to  the  exiled  Charles  at  Paris,  as  his 
financial  minister  and  chief  councillor,  with  the  nominal 
dignity  of    Lord  Chancellor.     He  was,  of  course,  an  in- 
fluential agent  in,  and  a  witness  of,  the  Eestoration.     He 
was  with  Charles  at  Canterbury  in  his  progress  to  London; 
followed  his  triumphant  entry  into  the  capital ;  and,  on  the 
1st  of  June,  U560,  took  his  seat  as  Speaker  of  the  House 
of  Lords,  and  also  sat  on  the  same  day  in  the  Court  of 
Chancery.  In  this  year  of  good  fortune  his  daughter,  Anne 
Hyde,  became  the  wife  of  the  Duke  of  York  ;  a  marriage 
which   made  Clarendon  (he  received  his  earldom  in  1661) 
the  grandfather  of  two  Queens  of  England,  Mary  and  Anne. 
Though  surrounded  by  a  host  of  enemies  and   detractors, 
provoked  partly  by  his  haughtiness  and  avarice,  partly  by 
his  arbitrary  measures,  and  partly  by  his  severe  censures 
of  the  profligacy  of  the  Court,  he  maintained  his  ground 
until  1665,  when  the  King  ordered  him  to  resign  the  great 
seal.     He   soon  afterwards  retired  to  France,  where  he 
completed  his  "  History  of  the  Eebellion  and  Civil  Wara 
in  Eno-land.''     He  was  also  the  author  of  a  finely- written 
«  Essay  on  an  Active  and  Contemplative  Life,  and  why  the 
One  should  be  preferred  before  the  Other."     His  Autobio- 
graphy is  a  valuable  contribution  to  the  literature  of  the 
time.    He  died  in  1674. 


328 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH  ; 


His  defects  as  a  historian  are  very  noticeable  :  his  style 
is  often  involved  and  cumbrous ;  he  accumulates  details 
witliout  any  lucidity  of  method;  his  prejudices  and  pre- 
possessions obscure  his  judgment  ;  his  narrative  of  events 
is  seldom  clear  or  direct.  On  the  other  hand,  his  character 
painting  is  of  the  first  order,  and  as  a  gallery  of  vivid 
and  vigorous  portraits  his  great  History  is  almost  un- 
equalled. 

It  may  be  said  of  Clarendon  that  lie  treads  the  historical 
stage  in  the  buskin  of  the  tragedian ;  Bishop  Burnet 
wears  the  lighter,  and  less  dignitied  sock  of  the  come- 
dian. He  writes  with  conversational  ease  :  takes  his 
reader  by  the  button- hole,  and  gossips  with  him  familiarly 
about  the  things  he  has  seen  or  the  men  he  has  known. 
His  faculty  of  observation  is  keen  and  exact ;  and  what 
he  observes  he  records  with  as  much  freedom  as  if  he  were 
committing  his  confidences  to  a  private  diary.  Not  with- 
out an  inclination  to  credulity,  and  by  no  means  exempt 
from  strong  prejudices,  he  seeks  nevertheless  to  tell  the 
truth,  and  is  never  knowingly  unjust.  Therefore,  no  one 
who  writes  of  the  period  covered  by  the  "  History  of  My 
Own  Tinie,^'  can  dispense  with  Burnet. 

As  a  specimen  of  his  method  we  subjoin  some  passages 
from  his  character  of  Charles  II. : — 

^'  He  had  so  ill  an  opinion  of  mankind,  that  he  thought 
the  great  art  of  living  and  governing  was,  to  manage  all 
things  and  all  persons  with  a  depth  of  craft  and  dissimu- 
lation. And  in  that  few  men  in  the  world  could  put  on 
the  appearances  of  sincerity  better  than  he  could ;  under 
which  so  much  artifice  was  usually  hid,  that  in  conclusion 
lie  could  deceive  none,  for  all  w^ere  become  mistrustful  of 
Mm.    He  had  great  vices,  but  scarce  any  virtues  to  correct 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


329 


them.  He  had  in  him  some  vices  that  were  less  hurtful, 
which  corrected  his  more  hurtful  ones.  He  was,  during 
the  active  part  of  life,  given  up  to  sloth  and  lewdness  to 
such  a  degree,  that  he  hated  business,  and  could  not  bear 
the  engaging  in  anything  that  gave  him  much  trouble,  or 
put  him  under  any  constraint.  And  though  he  desired  to 
become  absolute,  and  to  overturn  both  our  religion  and 
our  laws,  yet  he  would  neither  run  the  risk,  nor  give  him- 
self the  trouble,  which  so  great  a  design  required. 

"  He  had  an  appearance  of  gentleness  in  his  outward 
deportment  ;  but  he  seemed  to  have  no  bowels  nor  tender- 
ness in  his  nature,  and  in  the  end  of  his  life  he  became 
cruel.  He  was  apt  to  forgive  all  crimes,  even  blood  itself, 
yet  he  never  forgave  anything  that  was  done  against  him- 
self, after  his  first  and  general  act  of  indemnity,  which 
was  to  be  reckoned  as  done  rather  upon  maxims  of  state 
than  inclinations  of  mercy. 

"  He  delivered  himself  up  to  a  most  enormous  course  of 
vice,  without  any  sort  of  restraint,  even  from  the  considera- 
tion of  the  nearest  relations.  The  most  studied  extra- 
vagances that  way  seemed,  to  the  very  last,  to  be  much 
delighted  in  and  pursued  by  him.  He  had  the  art  of 
making  all  people  grow  fond  of  him  at  first,  by  a  softness 
in  his  whole  way  of  conversation,  as  he  was  certainly  the 
best  bred  man  of  the  age.  But  when  it  appeared  how 
little  could  be  built  on  his  promise,  they  were  cured  of  the 
fondness  that  he  was  apt  to  raise  in  them.  When  he  saw 
young  men  of  quality,  who  had  something  more  than 
ordinary  in  them,  he  drew  them  about  him,  and  set  himself 
to  corrupt  them  both  in  religion  and  morality ;  in  which 
he  proved  so  unhappily  successful,  that  he  left  England 
.much  changed  at  his  death  from  what  he  had  found  it  at 


330 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


331 


his  Eestoration.     He  loved  to  talk  on  all  tlie  stories  of  his 
life  to  every  new  man  that  came  about  liim.     His  stay  in 
Scotland,  and  the  share  he  had  in  the  war  of  Paris,  in 
carrying  messages  from  the  one  side  to  the  other,  were  his 
common  topics.     He  went  over  these  in  a  veiy  graceful 
manner,  but  so  often  and  so  copiously,  that  all  those  who 
had  been  long  accustomed  to  them  grew  weary  of  them; 
and  when  he  entered  on  those  stories,  they  usually  with- 
drew ;  so  that  he  often  began  them  in  a  full  audience,  and 
before  he  liad  done,  there  were  not   above   four   or   five 
persons  left  about  him  :  which  drew  a  severe  jest  from 
Wilmot  Earl  of  Rochester.     He  said  he  wondered  to  see  a 
man  have  so  good  a  memory  as  to  repeat  the  same  story 
without  losing  the  least  circumstance,   and  yet  not  re- 
member that  he  had  told  it  to  the  same  persons  the  very 
day  before.     This   made  him  fond  of  strangers,  for  they 
bearkened  to  all  his  often-repeated  stories,  and  went  away 
as  in  a  rapture  at  such  an  uncommon  condescer  .^ion  in  a 

king. 

"  His  person  and  temper,  his  vices  as  well  as  his  fortunes, 
resemble  the  character  that  we  have  given  us  of  Tiberius 
so  much,  that  is  were  easy  to  draw  the  parallel  between 
them.  Tiberius's  banishment,  and  his  coming  afterwards 
to  reign,  makes  the  comparison  in  that  respect  come  pretty 
near.  His  hating  of  business,  and  his  love  of  pleasures ; 
his  raising  of  favourites,  and  trusting  them  entirely ;  and 
his  pulling  them  down,  and  hating  them  excessively ;  his 
art  of  covering  deep  designs,  particularly  of  revenge,  with 
an  appearance  of  softness,  brings  them  so  near  a  likeness, 
that  I  did  not  wonder  much  to  observe  the  resemblance  of 
their  faces  and  persons.  At  Rome  I  saw  one  of  the  last 
statues  made  for  Tiberius,  after  he  had  lost  his  teeth.    But, 


bating  the  alteration  which  that  made,  it  was  so  like  King 
Charles,  that  Prince  Borghose  and  Siguier  Dominicio,  to 
whom  it  belonged,  did  agree  with  me  in  thinking  that  it 
looked  like  a  statue  made  for  him. 

^'  Few  things  ever  went  near  his  heart.  The  Duke  of 
Gloucester's  death  seemed  to  touch  him  much.  But  those 
who  knew  him  best,  thought  it  was  because  he  had  lost 
him  by  whom  only  he  could  have  balanced  the  surviving 
brother,  whom  he  hated,  and  yet  embroiled  all  his  affairs 
to  preserve  the  succession  to  him. 

«  His  ill-conduct  in  the  first  Dutch  war,  and  those  terrible 
calamities  of  the  Plague  anl  Fire  of  London,  with  that 
loss  and  reproach  which  he  suffered  by  the  insult  at 
Chatham,  made  all  people  conclude  there  was  a  curse 
upon  his  government.  His  throwing  the  public  hatred  at 
that  time  upon  Lord  Clarendon  was  both  unjust  and  un- 
grateful. And  when  his  people  had  brought  him  out  of 
all  his  difficulties  upon  his  entering  into  the  Trii)le  Alliance, 
his  selling  that  to  France,  and  his  entering  on  the  second 
Dutch  war  with  as  little  colour  as  he  had  for  the  first ; 
his  beginning  it  with  the  attempt  on  the  Dutch  Smyrna 
fleet,  the  shutting  up  the  exchequer,  and  his  declaration 
for  toleration,  which  was  a  step  for  the  introduction  of 
popery,  made  such  a  chain  of  black  actions,  flowing  from 
blacker  designs,  that  it  amazed  those  who  had  known  all 
this  to  see  with  what  impudent  strains  of  flattery  addresses 
were  penned  during  his  life,  and  yet  more  grossly  after  his 
death.  His  contributing  so  much  to  the  raising  the  great- 
ness of  France,  chiefly  at  sea,  was  such  an  error,  that  it 
could  not  flow  from  want  of  thought,  or  of  true  sense. 
Rauvigny  told  me  he  desired  that  all  the  methods  the 
French  took  in  the  increase  and  conduct  of  their  naval 


ooZ 


THE  MERKY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


333 


force  niiglit  be  sent  Mm  ;  and  lie  said  lie  seemed  to  study 
them  with  concern  and  zeal.  He  showed  what  errors  they 
committed,  and  how  they  ought  to  be  corrected,  as  if  he 
had  been  a  viceroy  to  France,  rather  than  a  king  that 
ought  to  have  watched  over  and  prevented  the  progress 
they  made,  as  the  greatest  of  all  the  mischiefs  that  could 
happen  to  him  or  his  people.  They  that  judged  the  most 
favourably  of  this,  thought  it  was  done  out  of  revenge  to 
the  Dutch,  that,  with  the  assistance  of  so  great  a  fleet  as 
Trance  could  join  to  his  own,  he  might  be  able  to  destroy 
them.  But  others  put  a  worse  construction  on  it :  and 
thought,  that  seeing  he  could  not  quite  master  or  deceive 
his  subjects  by  his  own  strength  and  management,  he  was 
willing  to  help  forward  the  greatness  of  the  French  at  sea, 
that  by  their  assistance  he  might  more  certainly  subdue 
his  own  people  ;  according  to  what  was  generally  believed 
to  have  fallen  from  Lord  Clifford,  if  the  King  must  be  in  a 
dependence,  it  was  better  to  pay  it  to  a  great  and  generous 
Mn<?,  than  to  five  hundred  of  his  own  insolent  subjects. 

"  No  part  of  his  character  looked  wickeder,  as  well  as 
meaner,  than  that  he,  all  the  while  that  he  was  professing 
to  be  of  the  Church  of  England,  expressing  both  zeal  and 
affection  to  it,  was  yet  secretly  reconciled  to  the  Church  of 
Eome;  thus  mocking  God,  and  deceiving  the  world  with 
so  gross  a  prevarication.  And  his  not  having  the  honesty 
or  courage  to  own  it  at  the  last ;  his  not  showmg  any  sign 
of  the  least  remorse  for  his  ill-led  life,  or  any  tenderness 
either  for  his  subjects  in  general,  or  for  the  queen  and  his 
servants;  and  his  recommending  only  his  mistresses  and 
their  children  to  his  brother's  care,  would  have  been  a 
strange  conclusion  to  any  other's  life,  but  was  well  enough 
suited  to  all  the  other  parts  of  his." 


To  the  Eestoration  period  belonged  Anthony  Wood 
(1632-1695),  the  quaint,  diligent,  but  partial  author  of 
the  *'  Athense  Oxoniensis,"  a  valuable  collection  of  memoirs 
of  nearly  all  the  eminent  authors  educated  at  Oxford,  and 
of  many  of  those  educated  at  the  sister  university.  Sir 
William  Dugdale^s  great  antiquarian  work,  the  Monasti- 
con  Anglicanumy  was  published  in  the  earlier  years  of 
Charles  II.'s  reign ;  and  in  1672  appeared  another  work 
of  antiquarian  importance,  Elias  Ashmole's  "  Institution, 
Laws,  and  Memoirs  of  the  Most  Noble  Order  of  the  Garter." 
John  Aubrey,  the  credulous  collector  of  superstitions, 
folk-lore,  ghost-stories,  and  the  like,  spent  the  leisure  of 
a  recluse  life  in  gathering  up  the  ^'  Miscellanies  "  which 
he  published  in  1696.  He  rendered  useful  assistance  to 
Dugdale  and  Anthony  a  Wood,  the  latter  of  whom  repaid 
him  by  describing  him,  for  the  benefit  of  posterity,  as  "  a 
shiftless  person,  roving  and  maggotty-headed,  and  some- 
times little  better  than  crazed ;  and  being  exceedingly 
credulous,  would  stuff  his  many  letters  sent  to  A.  W. 
with  fooleries  and  misinformations.^' 

Eobert  Leighton  was  the  son  of  a  Scottish  physician. 
Dr.  Andrew  Leighton,  who  was  punished  for  the  vehement 
polemics  in  his  "  Appeal  to  the  Parliament ;  or.  Lion's  Plea 
against  the  Prelacy,"  by  being  publicly  whipped,  pilloried, 
branded,  slit  in  the  nose,  and  deprived  of  an  ear — after 
which  he  lay  for  eleven  years  in  the  prison  of  the  Fleet. 
Robert  Leighton  was  educated  at  the  University  of  Edin- 
burgh, resided  for  some  years  at  Douai,  and  in  December, 
16il,was  ordained  minister  of  Newbattle,  near  Edinburgh, 
where  he  composed  his  well-known  "  Commentary  on  the 
First  Epistle  of  St.  Peter."  In  March,  1G62,  he  was 
induced  to  separate  himself  from  the  Presbyterian  com- 


334 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


335 


munion,  and  accept  preferment  in  the  Episcopal  Cliurch. 
For  eiglit  years  lie  occupied  the  see  of  Dunblane— where  a 
fine  sirove  of  trees  is  still  pointed  out  as  "  the  Bishop's 
^alk"— and  in  1670  was  appointed  to  the  Archbishopric 
of  Glaso-ow.  In  this  high  office  he  made  a  noble  effort  to 
reconcile  the  Presbyterian  body  to  the  ancient  Church  of 
Scotland,  but  his  exertions  were  nullified  by  the  arbitraiy 
and  cruel  policy  of  Lauderdale  and  the  Primate  Sharp, 
and  in  sore  discouragement  and  distress,  he  re.>i-ued  his 
archbisliopric.  The  remainder  of  his  pure  and  bkimeless 
life  was  spent  at  Broadhurst  in  Sussex;  but,  being  sud- 
denly called  to  London,  he  was  seized  there  with  an  illness 
which,  in  a  few  days,  proved  mortal.  He  died  on  the  25th 
of  June,  1Gn4,  at  the  age  of  73. 

A  complete  edition  of  th^  v,uiksof  this  estimable  prelate 
—of  whom  Burnet  speaks  as  gifted  with  "  the  greatest 
devotion  of  soul,  the  largest  compass  of  knowledge,  the 
most  mortitied  and  most  heavenly  disposition  that  he  ever 
saw  in  mortal  "—was  recently  published  by  the  Kev. 
Wilham  West,  the  Episcopalian  incumbent  of  Kairn. 
Their  special  characteristics  are  tlieir  intense  spirituality  of 
tone  and  feeling,  their  large-heartedness  and  absolute  free- 
dom from  sectarian  sentiment,  and  their  grace  of  style. 
Here  is  a  fine  thought,  finely  expressed  :— 

"Every  man  walketh  in  a  vain  show.  His  walk  is 
nothing  but  an  on-going  in  continual  vanity  and  misery, 
in  which  man  is  naturally  and  industriously  involved, 
adding  a  new  stock  of  vanity,  of  his  own  weaving,  to 
what  he  has  already  within,  and  vexation  of  spirit  woven 
all  along  in  with  it.  He  '  walks  in  an  image,'  as  the 
Hebrew  word  is;  converses  with  things  of  no  reality,  and 
which  have  no  solidity  in  them,  and  he  himself  has  as 


little.  He  himself  is  a  walking  image  in  the  midst  of 
these  images.  They  who  are  taken  with  the  conceit  of 
pictures  and  statues  are  an  emblem  of  their  own  life,  and 
of  all  other  men's  also.  Life  is  generally  nothing  else  to 
all  men  but  a  doting  en  images  and  pictures.  Every  man's 
fancy  is  to  himself  a  gallery  of  pictures,  and  there  he 
walks  up  and  down,  and  considers  not  how  vain  these  are, 
and  how  vain  a  thing  he  himself  is." 

And  here  is  a  passage  which  Coleridge,  in  his  "  Aids  to 
Eeflection,"  singles  out  for  quotation  : — "As  in  religion, 
so  in  the  course  and  practice  of  men's  lives,  the  stream  of 
sin  runs  from  one  age  into  another,  and  every  age  makes 
it  greater,  adding  somewhat  to  what  it  receives,  as  rivers 
grow  in  their  course  by  the  accession  of  brooks  that  fall 
into  them;  and  every  man  when  he  is  born,  falls  like 
a  drop  into  the  main  current  of  corruption,  and  so  is 
carried  down  with  it,  and  this  by  reason  of  its  strength 
and  his  own  nature,  which  willingly  dissolves  into  it,  and 
runs  along  with  it.'' 

Li  this  beautiful  image  we  have,  says  Coleridge, 
"religion,  the  spirit;  philosophy,  the  soul;  and  poetry, 
the  body  and  drapery  united;  Plato  glorified  by  St. 
Paul !  '' 

What  Leighton  was  to  the  Scottish  Church,  was 
Bishop  Ken  to  the  English  Church.  Both  were  men  of 
devout  mind  and  holy  life,  who  rose  above  the  sectarian 
conditions  in  which  they  had  been  bred,  and  translated 
their  religious  belief  into  action.  Among  their  con- 
temporaries they  stood  distinguished  by  the  force  and 
earnestness  they  threw  into  their  Apostolic  mission. 
They  were  good  and  great  men,  but  great  because  of 
their  goodness. 


336 


THE   MEEEY  MONARCH  ; 


Thomas  Ken,  the  son  of  a  respectable  attorney,  was 
born  at  Little  Berkbampstead,  in  Hertfordshire,  in  July, 
1637.  At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  was  admitted  into 
Winchester  School,  and  seven  years  later  he  entered 
New  College,  Oxford,  as  a  Probationer  Fellow.  Of  his 
University  life  we  know  little,  except  that  his  fine  voice 
and  love  of  music  led  him  to  join  a  musical  club  that  had 
been  recently  established  at  Oxford.  In  1661,  Ken  took 
the  degree  of  B.A.,  and  about  the  same  time  seems  to  have 
been  ordained.  The  respect  which  he  had  acquired  by  his 
scholarship  and  consistency  of  character  was  proved,  in 
1666,  by  his  naanimous  election  to  a  fellowship.  He 
thereupon  returned  to  Winchester,  where  the  room  in 
which  as  Fellow  he  resided,  pursued  his  studies,  and 
amused  his  leisure  by  playing  on  his  lute,  is  still  shown 

to  visitors. 

Morley  was  at  that  time  occupant  of  the  see  of  Win- 
chester, and  with  him  resided  the  "  Complete  Angler," 
,„i.l  Izaak  W.lto„.  «h.  L..  ™™,.  W«  .ister, 
Anna,  the  Kenna  of  her  husband's  ballads.  Under  the 
episcopal  roof  he  lived,  in  virtue  of  the  friendship  of 
many  years,  "  a  beloved  and  honoured  guest,  with  mild 
and  lighted  countenance,  snow-white  locks,  a  thankful 
but  humble  heart— with  piety  as  sincere  as  unostenta- 
tious—till  he  closed  his  eyes  on  all  the  'changes  and 
chances  of  this  mortal  life,'  at  ninety  years  of  age." 
Through  his  brother-in-law,  Ken  was  admitted  to  the 
intimacy  of  Bishop  Morley,  who  quickly  felt  the  influence 
of  his  exalted  character,  and,  in  1 609,  promoted  him 
to  a  prebend's  stall  in  Winchester  Cathedral.  But  Ken 
was  no  beneficed  idler.  Though  not  holding  a  pastoral 
charo-e,  he    laboured   zealously  in   his  Master's  service. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


337 


*^  His  most  exemplary  goodness  and  piety,"  we  are  told, 
^'  did  universally  exert  itself ;  for  this  purpose  he  kept 
a  constant  course  of  preaching  at  St.  John's  Church  in 
the  South  [a  suburb  of  Winchester],  where  there  was  no 
preaching  minister,  and  which  he  therefore  called  his 
own,  and  brought  many  Anabaptists  to  the  Church  of 
England ;  and  baptized  them  himself." 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Ken  composed  his  '^  Manual " 
for  the  use  of  the  Winchester  Scholars ;  and  those  beauti- 
ful '*  Morning  "  and  ^'  Evening  "  hymns,  which  are  the 
precious  heritage  of  every  English-speaking  child.  'Not 
less  dear  to  the  Nonconformist  than  to  the  Anglican,  they 
are  "  sung  or  said,"  day  after  day,  in  ten  thousand  house- 
holds, in  Canada — in  Australia — the  isles  of  the  Pacific — 
on  India's  coral  strands — as  well  as  in  the  mother  country. 
Written,  originally,  to  be  sung  in  the  chambers  of  the 
Winchester  boys,  there  is  good  reason  to  believe  that 
Ken  himself  adapted  them  to  that  noble  melody  of 
Tallis's,  with  which  they  are  indissolubly  associated.  Of 
Ken's  habit  of  singing  his  Morning  Hymn  regularly, 
at  daybreak,  Hawkins  writes  : — "  That  neither  his  study 
might  be  the  aggressor  on  his  hours  of  instruction,  nor 
what  he  judged  duty  prevent  his  improvement,  he  strictly 
accustomed  himself  to  but  one  hour's  sleep,  which  obliged 
him  to  rise  at  one  or  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  or  some- 
times earlier.  He  seemed  to  go  to  rest  with  no  other 
purpose  than  the  refreshing  and  enabling  him  with  more 
vigour  and  cheerfulness  to  sing  his  Morning  Hymn,  as  he 
used  to  do,  to  his  lute,  before  he  put  on  his  clothes." 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  sweet  simplicity  of 
those  hymns,  which  in  itself  accounts  for  their  enduring 
popularity,  contrasts  remarkably  with  the  complex  and 

VOL.    II.  Z 


338 


THE    MEERY  MONARCH; 


artificial  structure  of  mucli  of  Ken's  later  verse.  They 
came  fresh  from  liis  heart — are  absolutely  spontaneous 
in  their  utterance.  Unadorned  as  are  these  well-known 
lines,  what  can  be  more  touching  or  more  impressive  ? — 

"  All  praise  to  Thee,  my  God,  this  night, 
For  all  the  blessings  of  the  light : 
Keep  me,  0  keep  me,  King  of  Kings ! 
Under  Thine  own  Almighty  wings. 

Forgive  me,  Lord,  for  Thy  dear  Son, 
The  ills  that  I  this  day  have  done  ; 
That  with  the  world,  myself,  and  Thee 
I,  ere  I  sleep,  at  peace  may  be." 

Not  a  word    here   is    superfluous;   there  are  no  orna- 
mental epithets ;    language  cannot  be  plainer,  we   had 
almost  said  balder ;  and  yet  the  effect  produced  is  charm- 
ing.    The  Morning  Hymn   seems  a  jubilant  expression 
of  hopefulness   and  thanksgiving ;    the   Evening  Hymn 
fills   the    soul  with  the  peace  and  devotion  that  spring 
from  an  intense  faith  in  the  loving  Providence  of  God. 
From  16G9  to  1G75  Ken  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  his 
way.     In  the  latter  year  he  broke  away  from  his  habits  of 
seclusion,  and  accompanied  his  nephew,  Izaak  Walton  the 
younger,  on  a  Continental  tour.     It  was  the  year  of  the 
Papal  Jubilee ;  and  the  English  Churchman  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  witnessing  the  Roman  Court  in  all  the  splendour 
of  its  pomp  and  circumstance.  He  would  often  afterwards 
observe  that  he  had  great  reason  to  give  God  thanks  for 
his  travels,  since  (if  it  were  possible)  he  "  returned  rather 
more  confirmed  of  the  purity  of  the  Protestant  religion 
than  before."   At  the  close  of  the  year  he  was  back  again 
in  Winchester.      In  1679  he  took  his  doctor's  degree,  and 
in  the  same  year  was  appointed  chaplain  to  Charles  II., 
who,  during  his  frequent  visits  to  Winchester,  must  have 
heard  of  his  self-denial,  and  the  golden  excellence  of  his 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAKLES  II. 


339 


character.  This  appointment  led  to  his  being  sent  to 
Holland  as  the  chaplain  and  adviser  of  the  Princess  of 
Orange.  In  this  post,  says  Hawkins,  his  most  prudent 
behaviour  and  strict  piety  gave  him  entire  credit  and 
high  esteem  with  that  royal  lady.  He  contiues : — "  But  a 
consequential  act  of  his  singular  zeal  for  the  honour  of 
his  country,  in  behalf  of  a  young  lady,  so  far  exasperated 
the  Prince,  that  he  warmly  threatened  to  turn  him  from 
the  service  ;  which  the  doctor  resisting,  and  begging  leave 
of  the  Princess  (whom  to  his  death  he  distinguished  by 
the  title  of  his  mistress),  warned  himself  from  the  service, 
till,  by  the  entreaty  of  the  Prince  himself,  he  was  courted 
to  his  former  post  and  respect ;  and  when  the  year  expired 
he  returned  to  England." 

The  young  lady  was  Miss  Wroth,  one  of  the  Princess's 
maids-of-honour,  with  whom  Count  Julienstein,  half-uncle 
of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  had  fallen  in  love.  But  as  he 
afterwards  showed  a  disposition  to  behave  dishonourably 
to  the  young  lady,  Ken  constituted  himself  her  champion, 
and  remonstrated  with  him  so  effectively  that  at  length 
he  consented  to  marry  her.  The  Prince  was  greatly  offended 
at  this  marriage  of  so  near  a  kinsman  to  an  English  lady, 
untitled  and  penniless,  and  bitterly  resented  Ken's  chival- 
rous interposition. 

Early  in  1681  Ken  returned  to  Winchester;  and  soon 
afterwards  Charles  II.  visited  the  Cathedral  city  to 
inspect  the  progress  made  in  the  works  of  the  stately 
palace  he  had  projected.  He  was  accompanied  by  his 
mistress,  Nell  Gwynn,  and  desiring  to  lodge  her  in  im- 
mediate neighbourhood  to  his  own  apartments  at  the 
Deanery,  he  required  that  the  adjacent  prebendal  resi- 
pence   of  Ken     should  be   allotted  for  her  use.     With 


340 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


virtuons  indignation  Ken  refused  compliance  with  the 
royal  mandate.  Give  np  his  house  to  a  lewd  actress 
and  courtezan  ?  "  Not  for  his  kingdom  !  "  Ken  sternly 
replied ;  and  it  is  to  Charles's  credit  that  he  respected  his 
chaplain's  consistency  and  moral  courage. 

In  1683  Ken  accompanied  the  Tangier  expedition 
as  Chaplain  to  the  Admiral  in  command.  Lord  Dart- 
mouth. When  he  returned  to  England  in  the  early 
spring  of  1684,  he  found  his  brother-in-law  dead,  and 
Bishop  Morley  dying.  The  good  prelate  did  not  linger 
long ;  and  Mew,  Bishop  of  Bath  and  Wells,  was  then 
translated  to  Winchester,  leaving  his  own  see  vacant. 
The  vacancy  was  filled  up  by  the  appointment  of  Ken  at 
Charles's  personal  dictation  : — "  Odd's  fish  !  "  he  ex- 
claimed, "  who  shall  have  Bath  and  Wells  but  the  little 
fellow  who  would  not  give  poor  Nelly  a  lodging  P  "  This 
was  one  of  the  King's  latest  acts,  and  his  death  actually 
occurred  before  the  newly  made  Bishop  could  take  pos- 
session of  his  temporalities. 

Of  a  promotion  so  unexpected,  and  so  uncongenial  to 
his  way  of  thinking  and  his  retired  habits,  Ken  thus 
speaks :— 

**  Among  the  herdsmen,  I  a  common  swain, 
Lived,  pleased  with  my  low  cottage  on  the  plain  ; 
Till  up,  like  Amos,  on  a  sudden  caught, 
I  to  the  pastoral  chair  was  trembling  brought." 

In  Bishop  Burnet's  reference  to  it  we  find  a  touch  of  ill- 
nature,  due,  perhaps,  to  the  political  and  theological 
prejudices  of  the  man  : — "  Ken,"  he  says,  '*  succeeded 
Mew  in  Bath  and  Wells  ;  a  man  of  an  ascetic  course  of 
life,  and  yet  of  a  very  lively  temper,  but  too  hot  and 
sudden.  He  had  a  veiy  edifying  way  of  preaching,  but 
it  was  more   apt  to  move  the  passions  than    instruct; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


341 


SO  that  his  sermons  were  rather  beautiful  than  solid ; 
yet  his  way  in  them  was  very  taking.  The  King  seemed 
fond  of  him ;  and  by  him  and  Turner  the  Papists  hoped 
that  great  progress  might  be  made  in  gaining,  or  at 
least  deluding  the  clergy."  If  the  Papists  had  any  such 
hope,  it  was  speedily  blighted  ;  for  though  Ken  belonged 
to  what  is  now  known  as  the  Catholic  School  in  the 
Church   of   England,   he   was   as   hostile  to    Eomanism 

as  Burnet  himself. 

Ken  was  present  by  Charles  II.'s  death  bed,  and 
addressed  the  dying  King  with  his  usual  courageous 
faithfulness.  He  refused  to  allow  the  Duchess  of  Ports- 
mouth to  attend  in  the  sick  man's  chamber,  but  warmly 
^nd  courageously  urged  upon  him  the  duty  of  being 
reconciled  to  the  wife  he  had  so  grossly  injured  by  his 
infidelity  and  neglect.  Burnet  is  compelled  to  admit 
that,  in  this  critical  time,  *' he  spoke  with  a  great 
elevation,  both  of  thought  and  expression,  like  a  man 
inspired.  He  resumed  the  matter  often,  and  pronounced 
many  ejaculations  and  prayers,  which  affected  all  who 
were  present,  except  him  that  was  the  most  concerned, 
who  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  him,  and  made  no 
answers  to  him.  He  pressed  the  King  six  or  seven  times 
to  take  the  Sacrament,  but  the  King  always  declined 
it,  saying  he  was  very  weak.  A  table  with  the  elements 
upon  it,  ready  to  be  consecrated,  was  brought  into  the 
room ;  which  occasioned  a  report  to  be  then  spread  about 
that  he  had  received  it.  Ken  pressed  him  to  declare 
that  he  desired  it,  and  that  he  died  in  the  communion  of 
the  Church  of  England.  To  that  he  answered  nothing. 
Ken  asked  him  if  he  desired  absolution  of  his  sins  ?  It 
seems  the  King,  if  he  then  thought  at  all,  thought  that 


342 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


343 


would   do  him  no  hurt ;     so   Ken   pronounced    it  over 
Mm." 

Charles's  nomination  of  Ken  to  the  see  of  Bath  and 
Wells  was  confirmed  bj  James  II.,  and  the  Bishop,  with 
characteristic  fervour,  entered  at  once  upon  the  discharge 
of  his  new  and  important  duties.  He  visited  the  poor 
with  assiduous  self-denial,  traversing  his  diocese,  on  "  a 
sorry  horse,"  in  order  to  make  himself  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  its  condition  ;  preached  for  every  parish  priest  who 
required  it  of  him ;  encouraged  his  clergy  in  good  works ; 
and,  above  all,  set  to  his  people  a  noble  example  of  sincere 
and  lowly  piety  and  devotion.  He  devoted  much  care  and 
thought  to  the  education  of  the  children  of  the  poor,  and 
encouraged  the  establishment  of  parochial  schools  in  all 
the  towns  of  his  diocese.  ''  During  summer  he  would 
repair  to  some  great  parish,  where  he  would  preach,  con- 
firm, and  catechize  himself.  In  the  great  hall  of  his 
palace  at  Wells,  he  had  always,  on  Sundays,  twelve  poor 
men  or  women  to  dine  with  him,  instructing  them  at  the 
same  time."  He  delighted  to  maintain  a  dignified 
hospitality.  "  In  the  court  of  the  palace  at  Wells  there 
yet  remain  the  lofty  Gothic  windows  of  that  Hall,  called 
of  the  Hundred  Men,  where  public  meetings  were  held, 
and  the  business  of  the  county  transacted.  The  palace 
was  open  to  the  judges,  counsel,  and  noblemen  and  gentle- 
men of  the  county ;  at  the  head  of  whom  appeared  the 
mild  and  Apostolic  host  at  his  episcopal  table.  The  clergy, 
and  the  neighbouring  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  the 
county,  were  at  all  times  expected  and  welcome  and 
honoured  guests."  To  literary  labour,  during  his  epis- 
copate, Ken  did  not  greatly  incline.  His  publications 
were  few  and  unimportant ;  namely,  "  A  Sermon  preached 


in  the  Cathedral  Church  of  Bath,  on  Ascension  Day,  May 
6th,  1687;"  "An  Exposition  of  the  Church  Catechism; 
or.  Practise  of  Divine  Love ;  "  "  Directions  for  Prayer," 
printed  with  the  former  ;  and, ''  A  Pastoral  Letter  to  the 
Clergy  of  the  Diocese  of  Bath  and  Wells,  concerning  their 
Behaviour  during  Lent." 

After  the  collapse  of  the  Monmouth  rebellion  in  1685, 
he  extended  his  Christian  charity  to  the  unhappy  fugi- 
tives from  red  Sedgmoor.     His  palace  stood  scarce  a  day's 
journey  from  that  fatal  field,  and  its  gates  were  thronged 
with  supplicants,  whom  he  relieved  with  liberal  hands  and 
encouraged  with  prudent  counsel.  Considering  the  temper 
of  the  then  Government,  it  was  at  no  slight  personal  risk 
that  he  exercised  this  benevolence  ;  but  he  ventured  still 
farther,  and  when  the  Earl  of  Faversham  was  hanging  his 
prisoners  in  cold  blood,  courageously  warned  him  that  they 
were  by  law  entitled  to  a  trial,  and  that  their  execution 
without  trial  would  be  deemed  a  murder.     Yet  it  was 
Ken  whom  the  king  chose  as  the  fittest  person  to  prepare 
the  unfortunate  Monmouth  for  the  scaffold  to  which  his 
relentless  hatred  had  condemned  him ;  and  it  was  Ken, 
accompanied  by  Turner,  Bishop  of  Ely,  Drs.  Tenison  and 
Hooper,  who  stood  by  him  in  his  death  hour. 

The  reader  needs  not  to  be  reminded  that  after  the 
victory  of  Sedgmoor  and  the  Bloody  Assize  had  crushed 
out  the  rebellion,  James  II.  felt  strong  enough  to  proceed 
in  his  design  of  restoring  the  supremacy  of  the  Eoman 
Church.  To  evade  the  resistance  of  Parliament  he  pro- 
rogued it,  and  then  obtained  from  the  judicial  bench, 
which  he  had  packed  with  his  creatures,  a  declaration  that 
the  royal  dispensation  prevailed  over  the  provisions  of  the 
Test  Act.     To  overawe  the  citizens  of  London,  who  in  the 


344 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


old  days  were  firm  guardians  of  the  liberty  of  tlie  subject, 
he  encamped  an  army  of  thirteen  thousand  soldiers  at 
"ffounslow.  With  the  view  of  Romanizing  the  government 
of  the  Church  of  England,  he  appointed  seven  commis- 
sioners, with  the  infamous  Judge  Jefferys  at  their  head 
(1686) ;  and  their  first  act  was  to  order  the  Bishop  of 
London  to  suspend  a  London  vicar  who   had   preached 
against   Popery.     And   when    the   Bishop  refused,  they 
suspended  him.  This  arbitrary  action  of  the  Commissioners 
roused  the  clergy  to  a  strenuous  resistance;   and  anti- 
Roman    discourses    were    thundered  from  every  pulpit. 
Undeterred  by  the  signs  of  a  gathering  storm^  James  turned 
to  attack  the  Universities.      The  headship  of  Magdalen 
College  was  vacant,  and  in  1G87  he  recommended  to  its 
Fellows  for  election  one  Farmer,  a  man  without  scholar- 
ship and  of   evil  life.     The  Fellows  remonstrated,   and 
when  their  remonstrance  was  ignored,  elected  Mr.  Hough 
to  be  president.     The  Commissioners,  in  open  defiance  of 
law  and  custom,  declared  the  election  void ;  and  James 
endeavoured  to  put  in  a  second  nominee.  Bishop  Parker, 
of  Oxford,  a  servile  courtier  and  a  concealed  Papist.     The 
Fellows  stoutly  adhered  to  their  own  appointment.     In  a 
mood  of  sullen    wrath  James   repaired  to  Oxford,  sum- 
moned the  offending   Fellows  before   him,  and   sharply 
rebuked  them  for  their  disobedience.     "  I  am  king,"  he 
replied,  "  and  will  be  obeyed !     Go  to  your  chapel  this 
instant,  and  elect  the  bishop.      Let  those  who  refuse  look 
to  it,  for  they  shall  feel  the  whole  weight  of  my  hand  !  " 
We  turn,  however,  to  the  events  in  which  Ken  was 
personally  involved.      In  the  hope  of  bribing  the  Noncon- 
formists to  support  him,  James  issued,  in  1687,  what  was 
called  a  Declaration  of  Indulgence,  repealing  the  penal 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


345 


laws  against  Nonconformists  and  Catholics,  and  the  Acts 
which  imposed  a  Sacramental  test  as  a  qualification  for 
oflSce  in  Church  or  State.  So  far  as  the  principle  of  tolera- 
tion was  concerned,  this  might  be  regarded  as  a  just  and 
righteous  measure;  but  in  attempting  to  override  the 
statutes  of  the  realm,  James  was  acting  a  most  uncon- 
stitutional part,  and  dealing  a  fatal  blow  at  English 
liberties.  Once  concede  to  the  Crown  a  "dispensing 
power,"  and  the  laws  made  by  Parliament  became  a  sham 
and  a  nonentity.  The  Nonconformist  leaders,  therefore, 
threw  in  their  lot  with  the  Church  of  England,  and 
rejected  the  sop  which  James  had  so  ingeniously  prepared 
for  them.  James  then  resolved  to  summon  a  Parliament, 
in  the  hope  of  extorting  from  it  a  repeal  of  the  Test  Act ; 
but  he  soon  found  reason  to  conclude  that,  if  elected,  it 
would  represent  only  too  faithfully  the  spirit  of  the  people. 
Whom  the  gods  seek  to  destroy  they  first  make  mad,  and 
with  mad  persistency  he  issued,  on  the  27th  of  April, 
1688,  a  fresh  Declaration  of  Indulgence,  and  ordered  that 
it  should  be  read  on  two  successive  Sundays  in  every 
cathedral  and  parish  church  in  the  kingdom.  The  royal 
command  was  disobeyed,  however,  by  nearly  all  the  bishops 
and  clergy.  In  only  four  of  the  London  churches  was  the 
Declaration  read ;  and  in  those  the  congregations  quitted 
their  seats  and  departed  at  the  opening  sentences.  Arch- 
bishop Sancroft  and  six  of  the  Bishops  of  his  province, 
the  Bishops  of  Bath  and  Wells,  Chichester,  St.  Asaph, 
Bristol,  Ely  and  Peterborough,  met  at  Lambeth,  and  signed 
a  protest  to  the  King,  embodied  in  language  which  lacked 
neither  moderation  nor  firmness,  declining  to  publish 
an  illegal  ordinance.  "It  is  a  standard  of  rebellion," 
exclaimed  the  King  in  his  passion ;  "  I  did  not  expect  this 


346 


THE    MEERY   MONARCH; 


from  some  of  jou/'  and  having  gone  too  far  to  recede,  lie 
committed  the  recalcitrant  prelates  to  the  Tower  on  the 
charge  of  libel.  For  once  the  Church  was  on  the  side  of 
Freedom  ;  and  as  the  Bishops  passed  to  their  prison  they 
were  greeted  with  the  cheers  of  sympathetic  thousands. 
At  its  frowning  gates  the  sentinels  fell  on  their  knees,  and 
asked  their  blessing.  The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  loudly 
drank  their  healths.  The  tide  of  national  feeling  rolled 
in  rapidly  increasing  volume  from  the  capital  to  the 
furthest  provinces ;  but  James,  though  his  Ministers 
trembled,  refused  to  stay  his  steps.  Like  a  man  smitten 
with  judicial  blindness  he  hastened  to  his  doom.  Before 
judges  who  lived  by  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  and  a  jury 
carefully  packed,  the  Bishops  were  brought  to  trial  on  the 
29th  of  June;  but  neither  judges  nor  jury  durst  withstand 
the  popular  enthusiasm,  and  a  verdict  of  "  Not  guilty  "  was 
returned.  These  two  words  sealed  the  downfall  of  the 
Stuart  dynasty. 

When  James  II.  abdicated  Ken  -joined  the  Primate  in 
™i„..iM„,  th.,  »  tag  a,  he  U  J,  the  th^e  eo«M  .0. 
be  declared  vacant ;  but  that  as  he  had  governed  ill,  the 
nation  could  justly  prohibit  him  from  the  exercise  of 
government,  and  entrust  it  to  a  regency.  He  had  abandoned 
the  dogma  of  Passive  Obedience,  but  still  upheld  the 
doctrine  of  Divine  Eight.  He  refused,  therefore,  in  com- 
pany  with  Bancroft  and  six  other  bishops,  to  take  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  William  and  Mary  (1689).  They  were 
threatened  with  the  deprivation  of  their  sees ;  but  were 
allowed  a  year's  grace  to  consider  their  position;  and 
Queen  Mary  employed  Bishop  Burnet  to  negotiate  their 
submission,  offering  to  dispense  with  the  oath,  and  pass 
an  act  of  indulgence.    It  is  to  be  regretted  that  Ken  and 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


347 


his  brethren  could  not  be  induced  to  accept  this  reasonable 
concession.  Eventually,  as  Bishop  Turner  engaged  in  an 
intrigue  for  King  Jameses  restoration,  in  which  the  other 
bishops  were  suspected  of  being  involved,  though  there 
was  certainly  no  evidence  against  Ken,  the  sentence  of 
deprivation  was  put  into  execution,  and  Ken  withdrew, 
for  conscience  sake,  into  an  obscure  retirement. 

It  is  worth  while  to  get  at  the  motives  which  influenced 
him  in  maintaining  this  obstinate  attitude,  and  we  find 
them  explained  in  a  letter  which  he  addressed  to  Bishop 
Burnet,  on  the  5th  of  October,  1689  : — 

"  I  am  obliged  to  your  lordship  for  the  continued  con- 
cern you  express  for  me,  and  for  the  kind  freedom  you  are 
pleased  to  take  with  me  :    and  though  I  have  already  in 
public  fully  declared  my  mind  to  my  diocese  concerning 
the  oath,  to  prevent  my  being  misunderstood  ;    yet,  since 
you  seem  to  expect  it  of  me,  I  will  give  such  an  account, 
which,  if  it  does  not  satisfy  your  lordship,  will  at  least 
satisfy  myself.     I  dare  assure  you,  I  never  advised  any- 
one to  take  the  oath;  though  some,  who  came  to  talk 
insidiously  with  me,  may  have  raised  such  a  report.     So 
far  have  I  been  from  it,  that  I  never  would  administer  it 
to  any  one  person  whom  I  was  to  collate.      And,  there- 
fore, before  the  act  took  place,  I  gave  a  particular  com- 
mission to  my  Chancellor,  who  himself  did  not  scruple  it ; 
so  that  he  was  authorised,  not  only  to  institute,  but  also 
to  collate  in  my  stead.      If  any  came  to  discourse  to  me 
about  taking  the  oath,  I  usually  told  them  I  durst  not  take 
it  myself.     I  told  them  my  reasons,  if  they  urged  me  to  it, 
and  were  of  my  own  diocese  ;  and  then  remitted  them  to 
their  study  and  prayers,  for  further  direction.     'Tis  true, 
having  been  scandalized  at  many  persons  of  our  own  coat. 


348 


THE  MERRY  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


34^ 


who  for  several  years  together  preached  up  Passive  Obe- 
dience to  a  much  greater  height  than  ever  I  did,  it  being  a 
subject  with  which  I  very  rarely  meddled,  and  on  a  sudden, 
without  the  least  acknowledgement  of  their  past  error, 
preached  and  acted  the  quite  contrary,  I  did  prepare  a 
pastoral  letter  which,  if  I  had  some  reason  to  alter  my 
judgment,  I  thought  to  have  published,  at  least  that  part 
of  it  on  which  I  laid  the  greatest  stress,  to  justify  my  con- 
duct to  my  flock.  .  .  . 

"  If  your  lordship  gives  credit  to  the  many  misrepre- 
sentations which  are  made  of  me,  and  which  I  being  so 
used  to  can  easily  disregard,  you  may  naturally  enough 
be  in  pain  for  me ;  for  to  see  one  of  your  brethren  throw- 
ing himself  headlong  into  a  wilful  deprivation,  not  only 
of  honour  and  of  income,  but  of  a  good  conscience  also, 
are  particulars  out  of  which  may  be  framed  an  idea  very 
deplorable.  But  though  I  do  daily  in  many  things  betray 
great  infirmity,  I  thank  God  I  cannot  accuse  myself  of 
any  insincerity ;  so  that  deprivation  will  not  reach  my 
conscience,  and  I  am  in  no  pain  at  all  for  myself." 

Ken  found  an  asylum  at  Longleat,  the  hospitable 
house  of  his  early  friend,  Thomas  Thynne,  whither  he 
carried  his  lute,  the  small  Greek  Testament  which  was 
Ms  constant  companion,  the  shroud  which  was  to  be  his 
last  garment,  his  "  sorry  horse  "  for  his  occasional  jour- 
neys, and  his  income  of  twenty  pounds  a  quarter — all 
that  was  left  of  his  fortune.  His  later  life  presents  few 
incidents  that  call  for  notice.  In  1696,  he  was  sum- 
moned before  the  Privy  Council,  on  a  charge  of  having 
been  concerned  in  raising  subscriptions  for  the  poor  Non- 
jurors ;  but  he  defended  himself  with  manliness  and 
success.    In   1706,  soon  after  the  accession   of   Queen 


Anne,  he  was  invited  to  return  to  his  diocese  on  the 
understanding  that  Bishop  Kidder,  who  had  succeeded 
him,  should  be  removed  to  another  see.  In  the  following 
year  Kidder  accidently  came  to  his  death,  in  the  episcopal 
palace  at  Wells,  through  the  fall  of  a  stack  of  chimneys 
in  the  fury  of  the  Great  Storm.  Ken  at  the  time  was 
staying  at  his  nephew's  house  at  Salisbury,  and  met  with 
a  remarkable  deliverance.  There,  too,  the  stack  of 
chimneys  was  thrown  down,  but  the  beam  which  sup- 
ported the  roof  broke  their  descent,  so  that  nothing  save 
the  roof  was  damaged.  Writing  to  Bishop  Lloyd,  Ken 
says:  "I  think  I  omitted  to  tell  you  the  full  of  my 
deliverance  in  the  late  storm,  for  the  house  being  surveyed 
the  day  following,  the  workmen  found  that  the  beam 
which  supported  the  roof  over  my  head  was  broken  out  to 
that  degree,  that  it  had  but  half  an  inch  hold,  so  that  it 
was  a  wonder  it  would  hold  together ;  for  which  signal  and 
particular  preservation  God's  holy  name  be  ever  praised!  " 

Hitherto  Bishop  Ken  had  considered  himself  Bishop 
of  Bath  and  Wells  de  jure,  not  acknowledging  the  legality 
of  his  deprivation.  But  on  Bishop  Kidder's  death  he 
formally  resigned,  and  it  gave  him  much  pleasure  to  see 
the  mitre  bestowed  on  his  friend,  Bishop  Hooper.  Queen 
Anne,  when  she  found  that  he  considered  his  physical 
infirmities  a  bar  to  his  reinstatement,  was  graciously 
pleased  to  settle  on  him  a  pension  of  £200. 

At  Longleat,  in  the  73rd  year  of  his  age,  passed  away  the 
saintly  bishop.  Before  the  end  came,  he  had  many  painful 
warnino-s — general  debility,  rheumatic  pains,  and  much 
oppression  of  breathing.  These  were  followed  by  a  fit  of 
apoplexy,  which  rendered  him  for  a  time  unconscious. 
On  recoverino"  his  senses,  he  calmly  assumed  his  shroud. 


350 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


and  prepared  for  death  in  the  true  spirit  of  Christian 
heroism.  With  many  prayers,  and  bestowing  his  blessing 
on  his  son^owing  friends,  he  entered  into  his  rest  between 
five  and  six  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  19th  of  March, 
1711.     He  was  interred  in  the  churchyard  at  Frome. 

Ken's  poetical  works  were  collected  and  published  by 
Hawkins  in  four  volumes — the  first  of  which  contained 
his  hymns  ;  the  second,  "  Edmund,  an  Epic,"  and  "  Hym- 
narium;  or,  Hymns  on  the  Attributes  of  God;^'  third, 
"  Hymnotbes,  the  Penitent ;  "  and  the  fourth,  "  Prepara- 
tives for  Death. '^  To  us  the  wonderful  thing  about  these 
compositions  is  that  they  proceeded  from  the  pen  of  the 
anthor  of  the  "Morning"  and  "Evening"  hymns. 
They  are  in  the  worst  style  of  the  school  of  Cowley; 
cnmbroiis  in  versification,  loaded  with  grotesque  and  arti- 
ficial imagery.  It  is  said  that  he  wrote  his  dreary  epic, 
"Edmund,"  which  is  divided  into  fourteen  books,  to 
relieve  the  monotony  of  a  sea-voyage.  Probably  he  never 
intended  it  for  the  eves  of  the  public ;  and  it  would  have 
been  well  fur  his  memory  if  his  biographer  had 
allowed  it  to  moulder  in  the  dust  of  oblivion. 

The  four  volumes,  however,  are  not  all  rubbish ;  the 
barren  tract  is  brightened  with  a  few  flowers.  And  not 
unworthy  of  preservation  is  his  sketch  of  "  A  Christian 
Pastor,"  which  seems  to  be  a  bit  of  unconscious  self- 
portraiture  : — 


(i 


Give  me  tlio  juiest  those  grrxces  sball  possess  : 

Of  an  ambassador  the  just  address, 

A  fathers  tt'mh'nn'>s,  a  shepherd's  care, 

A  leader's  courav:* ',  wliicli  th*'  cross  may  bear; 

A  ruler's  awe,  a  watchman's  wakeful  eye, 

A  pilot's  skill,  I  he  helm  in  sh.nns  to  ply  ; 

A  prophet's  inspiration  from  above  ; 

A  teacher's  knowledge  and  a  Saviour's  love. 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II.         351 

Of  a  mild,  humble,  and  obliging  heart, 
Who  with  his  all  will  to  the  needy  part; 
Distrustful  of  himself,  in  God  confides. 
Daily  himself  among  his  flock  divides  ; 
Of  virtue  uniform,  and  cheerful  air, 
Fixed  meditation,  and  incessant  prayer ; 
Who  is  all  that  he  would  have  others  be, 
From  wilful  sin,  though  not  from  frailty,  free." 

In  the  concluding  lines,  Ken's  devout  and  simple  piety 
finds  due  expression  : — 

"  E'er  since  I  hung  upon  my  mother's  breast 
Thy  love,  my  God,  has  me  sustained  and  blest : 
My  virtuous  parents,  tender  of  their  child  ; 
My  education  pious,  careful,  mild  ; 
My  teachers  zealous  to  well-form  my  mind ; 
My  faithful  friends  and  benefactors  kind ; 
My  creditable  station  and  good  name  ; 
My  life  preserved  from  scandal  and  from  shame; 
My  understanding,  memory,  and  health  ; 
Kelations  dear,  and  competance  of  wealth  ; 
All  the  vouchsafements  Thou  to  me  hast  shown, 
All  blessings,  all  deliverances  unknown — 
Lord,  when  Thy  blessings  which  all  vot'ries  share 
With  my  peculiar  blessings  I  compare, 
I  stand  amazed  at  their  unbounded  store. 
And  silently  Thy  liberal  love  adore." 

A  few  words  may  be  said  in  illustration  of  his 
character,  which,  however,  offers  no  theme  for  the 
psychological  analyst  or  the  minute  critic.  It  was 
simplicity  itself;  his  Ufe  set  it  forth;  and  both  text  and 
comment  he  who  ran  miij^ht  read.  A  man  of  clear  Intel- 
lect  and  direct  purpose,  Ken,  when  he  had  once  deter- 
mined on  his  duty,  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  it.  His 
judgment  was  sound,  his  courage  high.  Prom  what  he 
conceived  to  be  the  truth,  no  inducement  could  separate 
him ;  and  his  witness  to  it  he  was  prepared  always  and 
everywhere  to  maintain.  Hence  we  discern  in  him  a  true 
type  of  the  Christian  priest.  His  piety  was  profoundly 
sincere ;  an  intelligent  and  reasonable  piety,  though  with 


OOJi 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


an  ascetic  touch  about  it;  a  loving  and  an  unaffected 
piety,  yet  strong  enough  to  sustain  him  in  severe  trials, 
and  to  encourage  him  to  noble  deeds — as  when  he  repulsed 
a  king's  mistress,  and  surrendered  the  emoluments  and 
dignities  of  the  episcopate  for  conscience  sake.  He  ruled 
his  diocese  firmly,  yet  with  the  gentle  consideration  of  a 
loving  nature ;  being  in  all  things  and  at  all  times  the 
father  of  his  clergy,  the  friend  and  adviser  and  shepherd 
of  his  laity.  As  a  preacher,  he  was  distinguished  by  his 
fervour,  his  plainness  of  speech,  and  his  boldness  of  utter- 
ance :  and  the  glow  of  his  devout  enthusiasm  sometimes 
warmed  his  language  into  eloquence.  He  was  not  a  great 
scholar,  and  his  credentials  to  the  recollection  of  posterity 
are  almost  exclusively  confined  to  his  two  celebrated 
hymns. 

The  Church  of  England  at  this  period  boasted  of  many 
divines  who  were  rapidly  rising  into  eminence  as  theolo- 
gians or  preachers.  Dr.  John  Pearson,  Bishop  of  Chester, 
who  died  in  1686,  was  already  famous  for  his  "Exposition 
of  the  Creed;"  Dean  Tillotson,  1630-1694,  who,  after  the 
Eevolution,  became  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  drew  de- 
lighted congregations  to  St.  Lawrence  Jewry  by  his  elo- 
quent sermons  ;  Dr.  Sherlock,  1641-1707,  was  in  the  prime 
of  manhood  at  Charles  II.'s  death,  and  had  given  evidence 
of  scholarship  and  controversial  ability ;  and  Dr.  Stilling- 
fleet,  1635-1699,  made  Bishop  of  Chester  in  1689,  had 
produced  his  chief  work, ''  Origines  Sacrae ;  or,  A  Eational 
Account  of  the  Grounds  of  Natural  and  Revealed  Reli- 
gion," as  early  as  1662. 

We  turn  to  the  most  renowned  among  the  Noncon- 
formists. Richard  Baxter  was  born  in  1615  at  Rowton, 
in  Shropshire  ;  educated  at  Wroxeter;  ordained  in  1638  ; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


353 


and  from  1640  to  1642  he  officiated  as  pastor  at  Kidder- 
minster. In  the  great  religious  and  political  struggle 
which  divided  England  into  two  hostile  parties,  whose 
lines  of  separation  are  still  far  from  being  effaced,  he 
supported  the  Parliament,  and  was  present  with  the  army 
as  chaplain  at  the  sieges  of  Bridgewater,  Exeter,  Bristol, 
and  Worcester.  But  the  polemics  of  officers  and  troopers 
were  not  to  his  taste,  and  from  the  vehement  debates  of 
Sergeant  Moretext  and  Zephaniah  Break-the-chains-of- 
Satan,  he  retired  to  Kidderminster,  where,  in  1653,  he 
wrote  that  beautiful  book  of  his,  the  consolation  of  so 
many  anxious  souls, ''  The  Saint's  Everlasting  Rest."  He 
boldly  remonstrated  with  Cromwell  on  his  assumption  of 
the  supreme  power,  and  plainly  told  him  that  "  the  honest 
people  of  this  land  took  their  ancient  monarchy  to  be 
a  blessing  and  not  an  evil."  After  the  Restoration  he 
might  well  have  abandoned  this  opinion,  for  the  Act  of 
Uniformity,  passed  in  1662,  drove  him  out  of  the  Estab- 
lished Church.  He  retired  to  Acton,*  where  he  lived  in 
the  delights  of  lettered  seclusion  until  the  Act  of  Indul- 
gence, in  1672,  enabled  him  to  return  to  London.  Some 
passages  in  his  "  Paraphrase  on  the  New  Testament," 
which  he  published  in  1685,  were  regarded  as  seditious, 
and  he  was  arraigned  before  Judge  Jeffreys.  It  was  on 
the  day  on  which  Titus  Gates  was  pilloried  in  Palace 
Yard  that  the  venerable  Nonconformist  leader  appeared 
in  Westminster  Hall.  He  asked  that  some  little  time 
might  be  allowed  hiiu  to  prepare  his  defence.  "  Not  a 
minute,"  exclaimed  the  brutal  Jeffreys,  ''  to  save  his  life ! 
I  can  deal  with  saints  as  well  as    with  sinners.      There 

*  His  house  was  near  the  church,  hut  has  long  since  been  pulled  down» 
and  its  site  caunot  now  be  identified. 


VOL.  II. 


A  A 


854 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


stands  Gates  on  one  side  of  the  pillorj;  and  if  Baxter 
stood  on  the  other,  the  two  greatest  rogues  in  the  king- 
dom would  stand  together." 

Throughout  the  trial — if  such  a  mockery  of  justice  de- 
serve the  name — Jeffreys  behaved  with  similar  brutality. 
He  browbeat  and  silenced  Baxter's  advocates^  and  when 
Baxter  himself  attempted  to  put  in  a  word,  overwhelmed 
him  with  ribald  talk,  mingled  with  quotations  from  "  Hudi- 
bras."  "  My  lord,"  said  the  aged  divine,  "  I  have  been 
much  blamed  by  Dissenters  for  speaking  respectfully 
of  bishops."  "  Baxter  for  bishops ! ''  cried  the  Judge, 
"  that's  a  merry  conceit  indeed.  I  know  what  you  mean 
"by  bishops ;  rascals  like  yourself,  Kidderminster  bishops, 
factious,  snivelling  Presbyterians ! "  Again  Baxter  at- 
tempted to  speak.  "  Richard,  Eichard,"  thundered  the 
Judge,  "  dost  thou  think  we  will  let  thee  poison  the 
court  P  Eichard,  thou  art  an  old  knave.  Thou  hast 
written  books  enough  to  load  a  cart,  and  every  book 
as  full  of  sedition  as  an  egg  is  full  of  meat.  By  the 
grace  of  God,  I'll  look  after  thee.  I  see  a  great  many  of 
your  brotherhood  waiting  to  know  what  will  befall  their 
mighty  Don.'^ 

He  was  sentenced  to  pay  500  marks,  and  to  be  impri- 
soned in  the  King's  Bench  until  the  fine  was  paid.  He  lay 
in  confinement  for  a  year  and  a  half,  and  then  regained 
his  libei-ty,  partly  through  the  exertions  of  Lord  Powis, 
and  partly  because  James  II.  desired  to  win  over  the  Pro- 
testant Nonconformists.  He  was  informed  that  if  he 
chose  to  reside  in  London  he  might  do  so  without  fearing 
that  the  Five  Mile  Act  would  be  enforced  against  him. 
But  Baxter  was  not  to  be  cajoled.  He  refused  to  join  in  any 
addi-ess  of  thanks  for  the  Declaration  of  Indulgence,  and 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


u5o 


.strenuously  exerted  himself  to  promote  a  reconciliation 
between  the  Church  and  the  Presbyterians.  It  was  mainly 
through  his  influence  that  the  two  bodies  stood  side  by 
side  in  the  struggle  against  the  Court.  In  the  same 
moderate  spirit  he  gave  his  assent,  in  1689,  to  the  Tolera- 
tion Act,  which  enabled  every  dissenting  minister  to  exer- 
cise his  functions  provided  he  declared  his  belief  in  some 
thirty-four  of  the  thirty-nine  Articles  of  the  Church  of 
England. 

Two  years  later  (on  the  8th  of  December,  1C91)  he 
closed  his  long  and  blameless  life,  a  life  spent  in  the 
practice  of  moderation  and  the  advocacy  of  charity.  His 
separate  writings  are  said  to  number  168.  Of  these,  the 
"  Saint's  Everlasting  Rest "  and  the  "  Call  to  the  Uncon- 
verted "  are  still  largely  read  among  us.  A  deep  interest 
also  attaches  to  his  autobiography — "  A  Narrative  of  the 
most  Memorable  Passages  of  my  Life  and  Times" — which 
Coleridge  rightly  pronounces  '^an  inestimable  work."  His 
own  opinion  of  his  writings  is  given  with  his  usual  frank- 
ness : — ''  I  must  confess,"  he  says,  "  that  my  own  judg- 
ment is,  that  fewer,  well  studied  and  polished,  had  been 
better ;  but  the  reader  who  can  safely  censure  the  books, 
is  not  fit  to  censure  the  author,  unless  he  had  been  upon 
the  places  and  acquainted  with  all  the  occasions  and  cir- 
cumstances. Indeed,  for  '  The  Saint's  Rest,'  I  had  four 
months'  vacancy  to  write  it,  but  in  the  midst  of  continual 
languishing  and  medicine ;  but,  for  the  rest,  I  wrote  them 
in  the  crowd  of  all  my  other  employments,  which  would 
allow  me  no  great  leisure  for  polishing  and  exactness,  or 
any  ornament  ;  so  that  I  scarce  ever  wrote  one  sheet 
twice  over,  nor  stayed  to  make  any  blots  or  interlinings, 
but  was  fain  to  let  it  go  as  it  was  first  conceived :  and 


356 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


when  my  own  desire  was  rather  to  stay  upon  one  thin^ 
long  than  run  over  many,  some  sudden  occasion  or  other 
extorted  almost  all  my  writings  from  me;  and  the  ap- 
prehensions of  present  usefulness  or  necessity  prevailed 
against  all  other  motives ;  so  that  the  divines  which  were 
at  hand  with  me  still  put  me  on,  and  approved  of  what  I 
did,  because  they  were  moved  by  present  necessities  as 
well  as  I ;  but  those  that  were  far  off,  and  felt  not  those 
nearer  motives,  did  rather  wish  that  I  had  taken  the 
other  way,  and  published  a  few  elaborate  writings  ;  and  I 
am  ready  myself  to  be  of  their  mind,  when  I  forget  the 
case  that  I  then  stood  in,  and  have  lost  the  sense  of 
former  motives." 

George  Fox,  the  founder  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  or 
Quakers,  must  also  be  mentioned.      He  was  the  son  of  a 
weaver,  and  born  at  Drayton,  in  Leicestershire^  in  lG2i. 
Apprenticed   to  a   shoemaker   who   traded   in  wool   and 
cattle,  he  devoted  much  of  his  time  to  the  charge  of  sheep, 
and  this  solitary  occupation  enabled  an  excitable  imagi- 
nation to  indulge  in  the  wildest  vagaries.    He  was  about 
nineteen  years  old,  when  he  was  one  day  much  disturbed 
by  the  love  of  drink  displayed  by  two  professedly  religious 
friends  whom  he  met  at  a  fair.     "  I  went  away,"  he  notes 
in  his  journal,  "  and,  when  I  had  done  my  business,  re- 
turned home;  but  I  did  not  go  to  bed  that  night,  nor 
could  I  sleep ;  but  sometimes  walked  up  and  down,  and 
sometimes  prayed,  and  cried  to  the  Lord,  who  said  unto 
me  :    '  Thou  seest  how   young  people   go  together   into 
vanity,  and  old  people  into  the  earth ;  thou  must  forsake 
all,  young  and  old,  keep  out  of  all,  and  be  a  stranger  to 
all ! '  "      Accepting  this  as  a  Divine  command,  he  gave  it 
his  most  rigid  obedience;   abandoned  his  trade  and  his 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


357 


home,  and  for  several  years  wandered  to  and  fro  like  a 

pilgrim  in  the  desert.     With  his  intellect  too  much  dis- 

ordered  to  enable  him  to  apprehend  things  in  their  true 

relations,  he  fancied  that  he  had  celestial  revelations,  and, 

like  Jeanne  d'Arc,  heard  voices.    "  One  morning,"  he  says, 

«  as  I  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  a  great  cloud  came  over  me, 

and  a  temptation  beset  me,  and  I  sate  still.      And  it  was 

said.  All  things  come  by  nature ;  and  the  Elements  and 

Stars  came  over  me,  so  that  I  was  in  a  moment  quite 

clouded   with  it;  but  inasmuch  as  I  sate  still  and  said 

nothing,  the  people  of  the  house  perceived  nothing.     And 

as  I  sate  still  under  it  and  let  it  alone,  a  living  hope  rose 

in  me,  and  a  true  voice  arose  in  me  which  cried :  There  is 

a  living  God  who  made  all  things.      And  immediately  the 

cloud  and  temptation   vanished  away,  and  the  life  rose 

over  it  all,  and  my  heart  was  glad,  and  I  praised  the 

living  God." 

Confused  and  disgusted  by  the  Eabel  of  tongues  which 
prevailed  in  the  religious  world,  and  the  opposite  views  of 
Scriptural  truth  presented  by  the  different  denominations, 
he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  no  living  teachers  could 
instruct  him  in  Divine  things,  and  that  he  must  act  upon 
the  inspiration  which  came  direct  to  him  from  heaven. 
''  He  argued  that,  as  the  division  of  languages  began  at 
Babel,  and  as  the  persecutors  of  Christ  put  on  the  cross 
an  inscription  in  Latin,  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  the  know- 
ledge  of  languages,  and  more  especially  of  Latin,  Greek, 
and  Hebrew,  must  be  useless  to  a  Christian  minister." 
This  is  his  confused  utterance  on  the  subject :  "  What 
they  know  they  know  naturally,  who  turn  from  the  com- 
mand and  err  from  the  spirit,  whose  fruit  withers,  who 
saith  that  Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Latin  is  the  original: 


358 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


before  Babell  was,  the  earth  was  one  of  language  ;  and 
Nimrod,  the  cunning  hunter  before  the  Lord,  which 
came  out  of  cursed  Ham's  stock,  the  originall  and 
builder  of  Babell,  whom  God  confounded  with  many 
languages,  and  this  they  say  is  the  original  who  erred 
from  the  spirit  and  command ;  and  Pilate  had  his  origi- 
nal Hebrew,  Greek,  and  Latin,  which  crucified  Christ  and 
set  over  him." 

It  was  about  1647  that  he  began  to  teach  publicly  in  the 
neigfhbourhood  of  Duckenfield  and  Manchester,  whence  he 
made  his  way  through  the  midland  and  northern  counties. 
Teaching  more  confused  and  extravagant  has  seldooi  been 
put  before  men,  and  yet  it  found  many  to  listen  and 
assent,  because  it  dwelt  so  much  on  those  minute  regula- 
tions and  observances  which  ignorant  minds  most  keenly 
appreciate  and  readily  seize  hold  of.  "  One  of  the  precious 
truths  which  were  divinely  revealed  to  this  new  apostle 
was,  that  it  was  falsehood  and  adulation  to  use  the  second 
person  plural  instead  of  the  second  person  singular. 
Another  was,  that  to  talk  of  the  month  of  March  was  to 
worship  the  bloodthirsty  god  Mars,  and  that  to  talk  of 
Monday  was  to  pay  idolatrous  homage  to  the  moon.  To 
say  Good  morning  or  Good  evening  was  highly  reprehen- 
sible ;  for  those  phrases  evidently  imported  that  God  had 
made  bad  days  and  bad  nights.  A  Christian  was  bound 
to  face  death  itself  rather  than  touch  his  hat  to  the 
greatest  of  mankind.  When  Fox  was  challenged  to  pro- 
duce any  Scriptural  authority  for  this  dogma,  he  cited  the 
passage  in  which  it  is  written  that  Shadrach,  Meshach, 
and  Abednego  were  thrown  into  the  fiery  furnace  with 
their  hats  on ;  and,  if  his  own  narrative  may  be  trusted, 
the  Chief  Justice  of  England  was  altogether  unable  to 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


359 


answer  this  argument  except  by  crying  out,  'Take  him 
away,  gaoler.'  .  .  .  Bowing  he  strictly  prohibited,  and, 
indeed,  seemed  to  consider  it  as  the  effect  of  Satanical 
influence  ;  for,  as  he  observed,  the  woman  in  the  Gospel, 
while  she  had  a  spirit  of  infirmity,  was  bowed  together, 
and  ceased  to  bow  as  soon  as  Divine  power  had  liberated 
her  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Evil  One." 

His  Scriptural  expositions  were,  in  their  way,  not  less 
absurd  and  irrational.       Passages   of  the    most   literal 
character  he    construed   figuratively;  and   as  figurative 
passages  he  construed  not  less  literally,  his  theology  was 
a  curious  jumble.     Such  as  it  was,  however,  he  taught 
it  everywhere,  and  with  almost  heroical  persistency ;  even 
forcing  his  way  into  churches,  and  interrupting  the  service 
or  the  sermon  with  loud  contradictions  and  vehement  as- 
sertions of  doctrine.     By  these  exploits  he  soon  acquired 
the  notoriety  which,  no  doubt,  he  coveted.     His  strange 
face,  his  strange  chant,  his  immovable  hat,  and  his  leather 
breeches  were  known  all  over  the  country ;  and  he  boasts 
that   wherever  the    rumour  was   heard,   "The    man   in 
leather  breeches  is  coming,^'  hypocritical  professors  were 
seized  with  alarm,  and  hireling  priests  took  to  flight.     He 
was  repeatedly  imprisoned;  at  Derby  he  languished  in  a 
wretched  cell  for  a  twelvemonth,  and  at  Carlisle  for  six 
months  experienced  from  his  gaoler  the  most  brutal  treat- 
ment.    At  Ulverstone  he  underwent  the  following  harsh 

experience : — 

«  The  people  were  in  a  rage,  and  fell  upon  me  in  the 
steeple-house  before  the  justice's  face,  knocked  me  down,, 
kicked  me,  and  trampled  upon  me.  So  great  was  the  up- 
roar, that  some  tumbled  over  their  seats  for  fear.  At  last 
lie  came  and  took  me  from  the  people,  led  me  out  of  the 


360 


THE  MEEEY  MONARCH 


steeple-house,  and  put  me  into  the  hands  of  the  constables 
and  other  officers,  bidding  them  whip  me,  and  put  me  out 
of  the  town.  Many  friendly  people  being  come  to  the 
market^  and  some  to  the  steeple-bouse  to  hear  me,  divers 
of  these  they  knocked  down  also,  and  broke  their  heads, 
so  that  the  blood  ran  down  several ;  and  Judge  Fell's  son 
running  after  to  see  what  they  would  do  with  me,  they 
threw  him  into  a  ditch  of  water,  some  of  them  crying : 
^  Knock  the  teeth  out  of  his  head  ! '  When  tbey  had 
hauled  me  to  the  common  moss-side,  a  multitude  following, 
the  constables  and  other  officers  gave  me  some  blows  over 
my  back  with  willow-rods,  and  thrust  me  among  the  rude 
multitude,  who,  having  furnished  themselves  with  staves, 
hedge-stakes,  holm  or  bolly  bushes,  fell  upon  me,  and  beat 
me  upon  the  head,  arms,  and  shoulders,  till  they  had  de- 
prived me  of  sense ;  so  that  I  fell  down  upon  the  wet 
common.  When  I  recovered  again,  and  saw  myself  lying 
in  a  watery  common,  and  the  peoj^le  standing  about  me, 
I  lay  still  a  little  while,  and  the  power  of  the  Lord  sprang 
through  me,  and  the  eternal  refreshings  revived  me,  so 
that  I  stood  up  again  in  the  strengthening  powder  of  the 
Eternal  God,  and  stretching  out  my  arms  amongst  them, 
I  said  with  a  loud  voice :  ^  Strike  again !  here  are  my 
arms,  my  head,  and  cheeks ! '  Then  they  began  to  fall 
out  among  themselves." 

The  extravagances  of  Fox  were,  of  course,  out-Heroded 
by  some  of  his  disciples.  He  tells  us  that  one  of  them 
walked  naked  through  Skipton  declaring  the  truth ;  and 
that  another  was  divinely  moved  to  go  naked  during 
several  years  to  market  places,  and  to  the  houses  of  the 
clergy  and  gentry.  Yet  he  complains  that  these  out- 
rageous manifestations  of  fanatical  indecency  were  re- 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDEE  CHAELES  II, 


361 


quited  by  an  unbelieving  generation  with  hooting,  and 
pelting,  and  the  horsewhip.  But  though  he  applauded 
the  zeal  of  his  followers,  some  remains  of  natural  modesty 
prevented  him  from  imitating  it.  He  sometimes  indeed 
would  cast  off  his  outer  raiment,  or  his  shoes  ;  but  the  article 
of  attire  from  which  he  obtained  his  popular  nickname 
he  was  always  careful,  however,  to  wear  in  public. 

Throughout  the  Protectorate,  and  the  reign  of  Charles 
II.,  and  into  the  reign  of  William  III.,  this  strange 
prophet — who  could  never  speak  intelligibly — continued 
to  expound  his  views,  and  gradually  succeeded  in  organ- 
ising his  followers  into  a  new  sect.  With  the  help  of  the 
more  educated  among  them,  such  as  Eobert  Barclay, 
Samuel  Fisher,  and  George  Keith,  he  reduced  into  some 
degree  of  system  and  form  his  teachings,  and  began  to 
enforce  a  severe  discipline.  Later  in  life  he  visited  Ireland, 
and  the  young  colonies  in  North  America,  where  he  spent 
nearly  two  years  in  making  converts  to  his  doctrines.  He 
died  in  London,  in  1G90,  aged  66.  On  the  morning  of  the 
day  appointed  for  his  funeral,  a  great  multitude  assembled 
round  the  meeting-house  in  Gracechurch  Street.  Thence 
the  corpse  was  conveyed  to  the  Quaker  burial-ground 
near  Bunhill  Fields.  Several  orators  addressed  the  crowd 
which  filled  it — among  these,  not  the  least  distinguished 
of  Fox's  disciples,  William  Penn. 

William  Penn,  to  whom  we  have  made  brief  allusion 
in  the  opening  chapter  of  this  book,  was  the  son  of  Sir 
William  Penn,  the  famous  Admiral,  and  was  born  on  the 
14th  of  October,  1644,  in  St.  Catherine's,  near  the  Tower 
of  London.  When  about  eleven  years  old  he  was  sent  to 
School  at  Chigwell,  where,  being  on  one  occasion  in  his 
chamber  alone,  "  he  was  so  suddenly  surprised  with  an 


862 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


inward  comfort,  and  (as  lie  thought)  an  external  glory  in 
the  room,  that  he  has  many  times  said  how  from  that  time 
he  had  the  seal  of  divinity  and  immortality ;  that  there 
was  also  a  God,  and  that  the  sonl  of  man  was  capable  of 
enjoying  His  divine  communications.'*  This  mental  de- 
lusion was  the  efPect,  no  doubt,  of  an  excited  imagination, 
nourished  by  the  boy's  solitary  pondering  over  his  mother's 
religious  books. 

The  Admiral,  having  fallen  into  disgrace  through  the 
failure  of  the  expedition  against  Hispaniola,  removed  his 
family,  in  1656,  to  Ireland,  where  he  had  considerable 
estates,  and  while  professing  to  be  employed  in   their 
cultivation,  engaged  in  plots  for  the  restoration  of  the 
Stuart  dynasty.     His  son,  meantime,  had  the  advantage 
of  receiving  instruction  from  a  private  tutor,  and  profited 
so  largely  by  it  that,  at  the  age  of  16,  he  was  sent  to 
Oxford,  and  entered  at  Christ   Church  as  a   gentleman 
commoner  (1660).     There  a  measure  of  fame  accrued  to 
liim  very  speedily  through  the  brilliancy  of  his  scholar- 
ship and  his  skill  in  all  manly  accomplishments.     But  by 
degrees  Penn  awoke  to  a  perception  of  higher  and  holier 
things;    his  religious  instinct  was    revolted  by  the  un- 
bridled licence  of  the  companions  among  whom  he  was 
thrown ;  and  he  began  to  dream  dreams  of  a  Common- 
wealth of  Saints  which,  in  the  coming  years,  he  hoped 
to  erect   upon    enduring  foundations   among    the  leafy 
wildernesses  of  the  New  World. 

At  Oxford,  about  this  time,  the  doctrines  of  Fox,  the 
Quaker  apostle,  were  very  eagerly  discussed.  As  ex- 
pounded by  one  Thomas  Loe,  or  Lowe,  they  attracted  the 
attention  of  Penn  and  his  fellow-students;  and  the 
apparent  simplicity  which  distinguished  them  naturally 


mmrwmmmmmmm 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


363 


exercised  a  powerful  influence  upon  minds  alarmed  and 
excited  by  the   Court   favour  extended   to  Eomanism. 
They  went  frequently  to  Thomas  Loe's  prelections,  and 
refrained  from  attending  the  College  services.     For  their 
contumacy  they  were  fined.     Breaking  then  into  open  re- 
bellion they  stripped  off  the  surplice,  the  use    of  which 
was  enjoined  by  the  authorities  ;  and  were  thereupon  ex- 
pelled  from  the  University.      Penn's    father,  a  man  of 
worldly  nature  and    a  great  supporter  of  ''the  powers 
that  be,"  was  so  enraged  at  this  untoward  event,  that 
when  his  son  presented  himself  at  home,  he  caused  him 
to  be  whipped,  and  finally  turned  out  of  doors.     Still  the 
young  man  held  to  his  view  of  what  was  right,  and  re- 
ceived and   answered  letters  from    the  Calvanist  Owen, 
whom   his   father  suspected    of  leading   his   son  astray. 
After  a  while  the  elder  Penn  relented ;  and  in  the  hope, 
natural  to  a  worldly  mind,  that  change  of  scene  might 
efface  the  old  impressions  by  exciting  new,  he  sent  him 

on  his  travels. 

At  Paris  Penn  was  introducrd  to  the  Court  of  Louis 
XIV.  He  plunged  into  the  wild  vortex  of  fashionable 
life,  and  his  father's  worldly  wisdom  seemed  justified  by 
the  eagerness  with  which  this  bright  and  accomplished 
young  man  threw  himself  into  the  current  of  dissipation. 
One  night,  as  he  was  passing  through  a  dark  street,  he 
was  stopped  by  a  French  gallant,  and  commanded  to  draw 
and  defend  himself.  What  offence  had  he  given  ?  The 
Frenchman  accused  him  of  not  having  returned  the  salute 
of  courtesy  with  which  he  had  approached  him.  Penn 
replied  that  he  had  never  seen  him ;  but  his  adversary 
would  accept  of  no  excuse,  and  threatened  to  cut  him 
down  with  his  sword.      At  this  insult  Penn's  patience 


364 


THE   MEEEY   MONARCH; 


broke  its  last  bonds,  and  forgetting  tbe  doctrines  of 
George  Fox,  lie  drew  bis  blade  rapidly,  and  assumed  a 
defensive  attitude.  By  tbis  time  a  crowd  bad  gatbered, 
wbo  expected  tbat  Penn,  as  in  a  few  passes  be  bad  dis- 
armed bis  quarrelsome  adversary,  would  take  bis  life,  in 
accordance  witb  tbe  laws  of  tbe  duello ;  but,  greatly  to 
tbeir  admiration,  be  returned  bini  bis  sword  witb  a  polite 
bow,  and  unconcernedly  went  on  bis  way. 

Keceiving  instructions  from  bis  fatber  to  remain  for 
awbile  in  France,  and  resume  bis  studies,  be  selected  for 
bis  tutor  tbe  eminent  tbeologian,  Mons.  Ancyrault,  of 
Saumur,  and  applying  bimself  most  earnestly  to  work, 
acquired  witb  considerable  rapidity  a  comprebensive 
knowledge  of  Frencb  literature,  as  well  as  a  considerable 
acquaintance  witb  the  writings  of  tbe  early  tbeologians. 
He  tben  recommenced  his  travels,  and  visited  Italy,  but 
was  recalled  to  England,  in  1664,  on  tbe  outbreak  of  tbe 
war  witb  Holland.  He  reached  London  in  August,  and 
seems  to  bave  created  quite  "a  sensation"  in  "polite 
circles."  Gossip  Pepys,  after  receiving  a  visit  from  tbe 
accomplished  young  traveller,  records  in  bis  Diary  that 
"  something  of  learning  be  bath  got,  but  a  great  deal,  if 
not  too  much,  of  tbe  vanity  of  tbe  Frencb  garb,  and 
affected  manner  of  speech  and  gait."  He  bad  grown  a 
bandsome  man,  and  bis  manners  were  perfect  in  their  easy 
grace.  "  Tall  and  well-set,  his  figure  promised  physical 
strengtb  and  bardibood  of  constitution.  His  face  was 
mild,  and  almost  womanly  in  its  beauty ;  bis  eyes  soft  and 
fiill;  bis  brow  open  and  ample ;  bis  features  well-defined 
and  approaching  to  tbe  ideal  Greek  in  contour ;  the  lines 
about  bis  moutb  were  exquisitely  sweet,  and  yet  resolute 
in  expression.     Like  Milton,  be  wore  bis  hair  long  and 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


365 


parted  in  tbe  centre  of  tbe  forebead,  from  whicb  it  fell 
over  bis  neck  and  sboulders  in  massive  natural  ringlets. 
In  mien  and  manners  be  seemed  formed  by  nature  and 
stamped  by  art — a  gentleman."  Such,  at  least,  is  Mr. 
Hepwortb  Dixon's  somewbat  imaginative  portrait  of  tbe 
future  Quaker. 

He  entered  bimself  as  a  student  at  Lincoln's  Inn  ;  but 
almost  before  be  could  settle  down  to  legal  studies,  was 
summoned  to  accompany  his  father  on  board  bis  flag-sbip, 
tbe  Loyal  Charles,  in  March,   1665.     His  experience  of 
a  naval    life    was   only  of    three  weeks'    duration;  for 
on  the  23rd  of  April  he  landed  at  Harwich   with  des- 
patches   for    tbe  King,    and    instead    of    returning    to 
tbe    fleet,   be   withdrew  to  bis   cbambers   in     Lincoln's 
Inn.     In  the  month  of  June  tbe   Great  Plague  began 
its     fearfal     ravages    in    London— an    event    to    rouse 
tbe  conscience  of  the  most  frivolous,  for  in  hardly  any 
sbape  is  death  more  hateful ;  in  none  are  its  accessories 
more  painful.     Tbe  one  spot  of  deadly  omen  ;  tbe  livid, 
swollen  body ;  tbe  death-agony ;  tbe  rougbly-made  coffin  ; 
tbe  plague-cart  for  tbe  putrid  corpse ;  the  solemn  bell  that 
woke  tbe  ecboes  of  the  night ;  tbe  horrid  pit  into  wbicb 
were   huddled   tbe    ghastly  remains   of  humanity— sucb 
circumstances   as   these   migbt  stimulate  even  tbe  most 
thou^^btless  to  reflection.    Upon  Penn's  naturally  contem- 
plative  mind  they  produced  a  deep,  ever-enduring  impres- 
sion; and  when  bis  father  returned  to  England,  flushed 
with  tbe  honours  of  victory,  be  found  the  gay  and  graceful 
Cavalier  transformed  into  the  grave  and  serious  student. 
Court  festivities   bad    given   place   to   disputations  with 
learned  men.     Love  poems  and  gay  sonnets  had  been  aban- 
doned for  tbeological  and  political  treatises ;  authors  and 


366 


THE   MERKY   MONARCH; 


legal  professors  of  repute  substituted  for  tlie  courtiers  and 
the  frail  beauties  wbo  displayed  their  meretricious  charms 
at  Whitehall.  The  change  does  not  seem  to  have  been  to 
the  Admiral's  taste.  He  desired  his  son  to  be  a  prosperous 
man  of  the  world,  continuing  in  the  path  he  himself  had 
trodden  with  so  much  success,  and  raising  the  race  of 
Penn  to  a  yet  higher  point  of  affluence  and  pride.  To 
wean  his  son  from  what  he  considered  to  be  an  irrational 
asceticism,  he  despatched  him  to  Ireland  in  the  autumn 
of  1665,  furnished  with  introductions  to  the  Duke  of 
Ormond,  whose  vice-regal  court  was  almost  as  brilliant  as, 
and  certainly  more  decent  than,  the  court  of  Charles  II. 

Penn  was  cordially  received,  and  the  gaieties  which 
surrounded  him  soon  appeared  to  have  the  effect  antici- 
pated by  his  father.  He  resumed  the  habits  and  tastes  of 
a  young  man  of  fashion.  Wlien  an  insurrection  broke 
out  among  the  military  at  Carrickfergus,  he  accompanied 
Lord  Arran  as  a  volunteer  on  the  expedition  intended  to 
reduce  them  to  obedience,  and  displayed  a  courage  and  an 
intrepedity  which  procured  him  from  the  Duke  of  Ormond 
the  offer  of  a  captaincy  of  foot.  His  father,  however, 
would  not  allow  him  to  accept  it  ;  and  Penn  betook  him- 
self to  the  paternal  estate  at  Shangarry,  near  Cork.  On 
a  visit  to  the  latter  town,  he  heard  that  Thomas  Loe,  the 
Oxford  Quaker,  was  to  preach  there  ;  and  recollections  of 
his  student-days  induced  him  to  be  present.  Loe's  text 
was  well  adapted  to  Penn's  peculiar  mental  condition  :— 
"  There  is  a  faith  that  overcomes  the  world,  and  there  is  a 
faith  that  is  overcome  by  the  world."  Penn  felt  that  he 
himself  had  long  hesitated  in  the  border-land ;  had  long 
wavered  between  light  and  darkness,  morning  and  night, 
the  world  of  faith  and  the  world  of  unbelief.     Loe's  voice 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


367 


came  to  his  uncertain  soul  like  that  of  a  messenger  from 
Heaven  ;  and  shaking  off  the  social  fetters  imposed  by 
custom  and  tradition,  he  went  home  that  night  with  a 
new  inspiration  kindling  in  his  heart :  William  Penn  had 
become  a  Quaker. 

He  thenceforth  attended  regularly  the  meetings  of  the 
Friends ;  but,  one  evening  in  November,  1667,  a  company 
of  soldiers  breaking  in  upon  their  secret  assembly— for 
the  Quakers  were  then  enduring  the  ordeal  of  a  severe 
persecution— Loe  and  his  fellow- worshippers  were  made 
prisoners,  and  committed  to  the  town  jail.     Penn  lost  no 
time    in    communicating    with   his    friend   the    Earl  of 
Ossory,  son  of  the  Duke   of    Ormond,  and   obtained  a 
speedy  release.      But  great  was  the  amazement  at  Court, 
the  ridicule  in  the  world  of  fashion,  the  consternation 
of  Sir  William  Penn,  when  it  was  thus   made   known 
that  his  son  and  heir  had  joined  the  despised  followers 
of  George  Fox  !      He  recalled  him  to  England,  and  at 
first,  observing  no  change  in  his  attire,  no  precisian  cut 
or  rigid  formaUty  in  his  clothes,  comforted  himself  with 
the  hope  that  curiosity,  and  not  belief,  had  attracted  his 
son  to  the  meeting-house.      He  soon  noticed,  however, 
that  he  forbore  to  remove  his  hat  in  the  company  of  his 
friends  and  superiors,  and  on  inquiring  the  reason,  ascer- 
tained that  his  first  alarms  had  been  well-founded.     He 
assailed  him  with  sarcasm,  but  his  son's  convictions  were 
too  strong  to  be  shaken  by  so  feeble  a  weapon.     He  plied 
him    with    argument,  but    found   him   his    master    in 
Scriptural  knowledge   and  logical  reasoning.     A  third 
course  remained,  and  the  angry  sea-captain  adopted  it : 

he  turned  him  out  of  doors.     After  awhile  he  relented  so 
far  as  to  allow  him  to  return  to  his  house,  but  he  would 


368 


THE    MEERY    MONARCH; 


not  admit  him  into  his  presence.     Though  gifted  with 
strong  affections,  the  young   man,  for  conscience  sake, 
bore  the  parental  anger  patiently.     He  had  already  begun 
to  expound  and  defend,  with  pen  and  voice,  the  doctrines 
be  had  embraced ;  and  in  1668  he  published  his  first  book, 
under  the  title  of  "  Truth  Exalted  in  a  Short  but  Sure 
Testimony  against  all  those  Eeligions,  Faiths,  and  Wor- 
ships, that  have  been  formed  and  followed  in  the  darkness 
of  Apostasy;  and  for  that  glorious  light  which  is  now 
risen  and  shines  forth  in  the  Life  and  Doctrine  of  the 
despised  Quakers,  as  the  alone  good  old  way  of  Life  and 
Salvation.     Presented  to   Princes,  Priests,  and  Peoples, 
that  they  may  repent,  believe,  and  obey.    By  William 
Penn,  whom  Divine  Love  constrains  in  an  holy  contempt 
to  trample  on  Egypt's  glory,  not  fearing  the  King's  wrath, 
having  beheld  the  Majesty  of   Him  who  is   Invisible." 
This  was  shortly  followed  by  a  severe  polemic,   "The 
Guide   Mistaken,"   in  reply   to   John   Clapham's   attack 
upon  the  Quakers  in  his  "  Guide  to  True  Eeligion  ; "  and 
by  a  well-written  argument  in  favour  of  the  Unitarian 
view  of  The  Godhead—"  The  Sandy  Poundation  Shaken  " 
—which  Mr.  Pepys  read,  and  found  "  so  well  writ,  as  I 
think  it  is  too  good  for  him  to  have  writ  it :  it  is  a  serious 
sort  of  book,"  he  adds,   "and  not  fit  for  everybody  to 
read."     So  thought  the  authorities  of  the  Church,  and  at 
their  instance  he  was  committed  to  the  Tower,  where  he 
lingered  in  a  solitary  cell  for  nearly  nine  months,  debarred 
from  all  intercourse  with  his  family  and  friends.     His 
books,  however,  supplied  him  with  social  converse  ;  his 
pen  proved  an  agreeable  companion ;  and  the  fruit  of  his 
enforced   seclusion   appeared    in   that   elaborate  folio  of 
his,  "  No  Cross  no  Crown,"  in  which  he  illustrates  the 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


369 


value  of  suffering  as  an  agent  of  moral  purification,  and 
the  power  of  Christian  endurance  to  win  the  Christian 
victory.  His  own  endurance  the  Bishop  of  London  tested 
by  causing  him  to  be  informed  that  the  Bishop  had  re- 
solved he  should  die  in  his  dungeon  unless  he  recanted  his 
errors.  "  I  do  not  heed  their  threats,"  he  replied ;  "  I 
will  weary  out  their  malice.  Neither  great  nor  good  things 
were  ever  attained  without  loss  and  hardship.  The  man 
that  would  reap  and  not  labour  must  perish  in  disappoint- 
ment." Shortly  afterwards  he  published  a  vindication  of 
himself  and  his  religious  opinions,  entitled  "  Innocency 
with  her  Open  Face,"  which  produced  a  favourable  im- 
pression on  the  public.  At  the  Duke  of  York's  inter- 
cession he  obtained  an  unconditional  release ;  and  departed 
for  Ireland  to  resume  the  management  of  his  father's 
property  at  Shangarry  Castle. 

This  was  in  October,  1669.  In  the  following  June  he 
returned  to  England,  and  enjoyed  the  happiness  of  being 
reconciled  to  his  father.  It  was  in  the  same  year  that 
Parliament  renewed  the  infamous  Conventicle  Act,  which 
inflicted  on  every  person  attending  a  conventicle  or 
meeting-house  a  fine  of  5s.  for  the  first,  and  10s.  for  the 
second  offence,  while  a  much  heavier  penalty  fell  upon  the 
oflBiciating  minister.  The  Quaker  assemblies  had  hitherto 
been  connived  at,  but  the  law  was  now  enforced  without 
distinction  ;  and  when  Penn  and  his  co-religionists  re- 
paired to  their  chapel  in  Gracechurch  Street,  on  the  14th 
of  August,  they  found  a  detachment  of  soldiers  posted  at 
the  doors,  who  prohibited  their  entrance.  Penn,  taking 
off  his  hat,  had  beguji  to  address  them,  when  immediately 
some  constables  forced  their  way  through  the  crowd,  and 

VOL.  II.  ^  ^ 


370 


THE   MEERT   MONARCH; 


arrested  him  and  anotlier,  Captain  William  Mead,  a  city 
draper,  who  had  served  the  Commonwealth  with  his 
Bword.  When  Penn  demanded  their  authority,  they  pro- 
duced a  warrant  from  the  Lord  Mayor,  before  whom  the 
two  prisoners  were  carried  for  examination.  He  ordered 
the  Quaker  to  remove  his  hat,  and  on  Penn's  refusal, 
threatened  to  send  him  to  Bridewell,  and  direct  that  he 
should  be  well  whipped  ;  but  warned  against  so  monstrous 
a  proceeding,  he  committed  him  and  his  companion  to  the 
Black  Dog,  a  '^  sponging-house  "  of  ill  repute,  in  Newgate 
Market,  to  await  their  trial  at  the  Old  Bailey. 

This  remarkable  trial  took  place  on  the  1st  of  Sep- 
tember ;  "  remarkable,"  for  it  contributed  in  no  small 
degree  to  secure  the  libeiiies  of  the  subject.  It  pivoted, 
80  to  speak,  on  one  gi-eat  question.  Undoubtedly,  the 
Conventicle  Act  was  a  violation  of  principles  laid  down  in 
the  Great  Charter ;  but  it  had  been  passed  by  Parliament 
and  sanctioned  by  the  Crown.  Could  the  assent  of  the 
Crown  and  Parliament  legalize  a  measure  which  violated 
the  ancient  constitution  of  the  realm  ?  No,  said  Penn, 
and  claimed  for  every  Englishman  four  fundamental 
rights  as  descending  to  him  from  the  Saxon  period: — 
1,  Security  of  Property ;  2,  Security  of  Person ;  3,  A 
voice  in  the  making  of  all  laws  relating  to  Property  or 
Person ;  and,  4,  A  share,  by  means  of  the  jury,  in  the 
actual  administration  of  the  Civil  Law.  These  rights 
had  been  attacked  in  Penn's  person,  and  were  vindicated 
by  Penn's  courageous  action.  He  defended  himself  with 
great  spirit  and  ability,  though  the  Court  seized  every 
opportunity  to  browbeat  and  confuse  him. 

Thus  said  the  Recorder,  violently,  in  reply  to  Penn's 
calm  request,  that  he  would  inform  him  by  what  law  he 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


371 


was  prosecuted,  and  on  what  law  the  indictment  was 

grounded — 

«^You  must  not  think  that  I  am  able  to  sum  up  so 
many  years,  and  ever  so  many  adjudged  cases,  which  we 
<;all  common  law,  to  satisfy  your  curiosity." 

Penn— "This  answer,  I  am  sure,  is  very  short  of  my 
question ;    for  if  it  be  common,  it  should  not  be  so  very 

hard  to  produce.^' 

Recorder   (angrily)— "  Sir,   will   you    plead    to    your 

indictment  ?  " 

Penn—"  Shall  I  plead  to  an  indictment  that  has  no 
foundation  in  law  ?  If  it  contain  that  law  you  say  I  have 
broken,  why  should  you  decline  to  produce  it,  since  it 
will  be  impossible  for  the  jury  to  determine,  or  agree  to 
bring  in  their  verdict,  who  have  not  the  law  produced 
by  which  they  should  measure  the  truth  of  the  indict- 
ment ? '' 

Recorder    (passionately)— "  You  are  a  saucy  fellow; 

speak  to  the  indictment.'' 

Penn "  I  say  it  is  my  place  to  speak  to  matters  of  law. 

I  am  arraigned  a  prisoner.  My  liberty,  which  is  next  to 
life  itself,  is  now  concerned.  You  are  many  against  me, 
and  it  is  hard  if  I  must  not  make  the  best  of  my  case.  I 
say  again,  unless  you  show  me  and  the  people  the  law 
you  ground  your  indictment  upon,  I  shall  take  it  for 
granted  your  proceedings  are  merely  arbitrary.  .  .  ." 

Recorder  (waiving  this  critical  point)— "The  ques- 
tion is,  whether  you  are  guilty  of  this  indictment  ?  " 

Penn—"  The  question  is,  not  whether  I  am  guilty  of 
this  indictment,  but  whether  this  indictment  be  legal.  It 
i^  too  general  and  imperfect  an  answer  to  say  it  is  common 
law,  unless  we  know  both  where  and  what  it  is;    for 


872 


THE    MEREY   MONARCH  ; 


where  there  is  no  law  there  is  no  transgression ;  and  that 
law  which  is  not  in  being,  so  far  from  being  common  law, 
is  no  law  at  all/' 

Recorder — "  You  are  an  impertinent  fellow.  Will  you 
teach  the  Court  what  law  is  ?  It  is  lex  non  scripta.  That 
which  many  have  studied  thirty  or  forty  years  to  know, 
would  you  have  me  tell  you  in  a  moment  ?  " 

Penn — "  Certainly,  if  the  common  law  be  so  hard  to  he 
understood,  it  is  far  from  being  very  common  ;  but  if  the 
Lord  Coke  in  his  Institutes  be  of  any  weight,  he  tells  us 
that  'common  law  is  common  right,'  and  common  right  is 
the  great  charter  privileges  confirmed  by  various  enact- 
ments." 

Recorder — "  Sir,  you  are  a  very  troublesome  fellow, 
and  it  is  not  for  the  honour  of  the  Court  to  allow  you  to 
go  on.  .  .  .  My  Lord,  if  you  do  not  take  some  course 
with  this  pestilent  fellow  to  stop  his  mouth,  we  shall 
not  be  able  to  do  anything  to-night." 

Lord  Mayor — *'Take  him  away!  Take  him  away! 
Put  him  into  the  bale-dock  !  " 

And  in  the  midst  of  a  vigorous  appeal  to  the  jury,  he 
was  forcibly  removed  to  the  extreme  end  of  the  Court, 
where  he  could  neither  see  nor  be  seen. 

The  Recorder  then  proceeded  — 

'^Tou,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  have  heard  what  the 
indictment  is ;  it  is  for  preaching  to  the  people  and 
drawing  a  tumultuous  company  after  them ;  and  Mr.  Penu 
was  speaking.  If  they  shall  not  be  disturbed,  you  see 
they  will  go  on.  There  are  three  or  four  witnesses  have 
proved  this — that  Mr.  Penn  did  preach  there,  that  Mr. 
Mead  did  allow  of  it.  After  this,  you  have  heard  by 
substantial  witnesses  what  is  said  against  them.     Xow  we 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


373 


are  on  matter  of  fact,  which  you  are  to  keep  and  to 
observe,  as  what  hath  been  fully  sworn,  at  your  peril." 
Here   Penn  from   the    bale-dock  interrupted,    in    his 

loudest  tones  — 

^'  I  appeal  to  the  jury  who  are  my  judges,  and  to  this 
great  assembly,  whether  the  proceedings  of  the  Court 
are  not  most  arbitrary,  and  void  of  all  law,  in  ofPermg  to 
give  the  jury  their  charge  in  the  absence  of  the  prisoners? 
I  say  it  is  directly  opposed  and  destructive  to  the  right  of 
every  English  prisoner,  as  declared  by  Coke  in  the  2nd 
Institute,  29,  on  the  chapter  of  Magna  Charta." 

Recorder   (with  an  affectation   of  humour)-- Why, 
you  are  present.     You  do  hear ;  do  you  not  ?  " 

Penn-'' No,  thanks  to  the  Court  that  commanded  me 
into  the  bale-dock.  And  you  of  the  jury,  take  notice 
that  I  have  not  been  heard;  neither  can  you  legally 
depart  the  Court  before  I  have  been  fully  heard,  having 
at  least  ten  or  twelve  material  points  to  offer  in  order  to 
invalidate  the  indictment." 

Recorder  (furiously)-"  Pull  that  fellow  down  !  PuU 
him  down!  Take  him  to  the  hole.  To^ hear  him  talk 
doth  not  become  the  honour  of  the  Court." 

After  the  prisoners  had  been  -  haled  away     to  the 
«qualidest  of  all  the  squalid  dens  in  England,  the  "  hole 
in  Newgate,  the  Recorder  commanded  the  jury  to  agree 
in  their  verdict  according  to   the  facts   sworn.      They 
retired  for  consideration;  but  instead  of  returning  imme- 
diately,as  the  judges  anticipated,  tarried  thirty  minutes- 
sixty  minutes-an  hour  and  a  half !     Then  entered  eight 
of  the  jurors,  saying  that  they  could  not  agree.     The 
Recorder  demanded  the  attendance  of  the  other  four,  and 
immediately  poured  out  upon  them  a  flood  of  vituperation. 


THE    MEREY   MONARCH; 


The  jiirj  withdrew  a  second  time ;  and  after  two  hours' 
absence,  returned  with  a  verdict  of  "  Guilty  of  speaking 
in  Gracechurch  Street."  An  attempt  was  made  to  coerce 
or  cajole  them  into  altering  it  to  "  unlawful  speaking  ; '' 
but  they  manfully  refused.  '^  We  have  given  in  our 
verdict;  we  can  give  no  other."  They  were  sent  back  a 
third  time  ;  whereupon  they  sent  in  a  verdict,  "  Guilty  of 
speaking  to  an  assembly  met  together  in  Gracechurch 
Street."  In  a  storm  of  passion,  the  Lord  Mayor  pro- 
nounced their  foreman  "an  impudent,  canting  knave." 
The  Eecorder  exclaimed,  "  You  shall  not  be  dismissed  till 
you  bring  in  a  verdict  which  the  Court  will  accept.  You 
shall  be  locked  up,  without  meat,  drink,  fire,  and  tobacco. 
You  shall  not  think  thus  to  abuse  tbe  Court.  We  will 
have  a  verdict,  by  the  help  of  God,  or  you  shall  starve 
for  it ! " 

Penn— "'The  jury,  who  are  my  judges,  ought  not  to 
he  thus  menaced.  Their  verdict  should  be  free— not 
forced." 

Eecorder — '^  Stop  that  fellow's  mouth,  or  put  him  out 
of  Court !  " 

Lord  Mayor  (addressing  the  jury) — "  You  have  heard 
that  he  preached  ;  that  he  gathered  a  company  of  tumul- 
tuous people ;  and  that  they  not  only  disobey  the  martial 
power,  but  the  civil  also." 

Penn — "That  is  a  mistake.  We  did  not  make  the 
tumult,  but  they  that  interrupted  us.  The  jury  cannot 
be  so  ignorant  as  to  think  we  met  there  to  disturb  the 
peace,  because  it  is  well  known  that  we  are  a  peaceable 
people,  never  offering  violence  to  any  man,  and  were  kept 
by  force  of  arms  out  of  our  own  house.  You  are  English- 
men," he  said  to  the  jurors  ;  ^'  mind  your  privileges :  give 
not  away  your  rights." 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


375 


The  jury  were  then  locked  up,  and  the  prisoners  carried 
back  to  Newgate.      The  next  morning  (Sunday)  the  Court 
was  again  crowded,  and  with  anxiety  chequered  by  hope 
the  public  awaited  the  reappearance  of  the  jurors.    At 
seven  o'clock  their  names  were  called  over,  and  the  Clerk 
once  more  inquired  if  they  had  agreed  upon  a  verdict. 
They  replied  in  the  affirmative.     "  Guilty,  or  not  guilty? " 
«  Guilty  of  speaking  in  Gracechurch  Street." 
Lord  Mayor—"  To  an  unlawful  assembly  ?  " 
Bushel-"  No,  my  lord;  we  give  no  other  verdict  than 

we  gave  last  night." 
Lord  Mayor-^'You  are  a  factious  fellow;  Til  take  a 

course  with  you."  ^^ 

Bushel— "I  have  done  according  to  my  conscience. 
Lord  Mayor— "That  conscience  of  yours   would  cut 

my  throat." 

Bushel—"  No,  my  lord,  it  never  shall." 

Lord  Mayor—"  But  I  will  cut  yours  as  soon  as  I  can. 

Eecorder  (jestingly)-" He  has  inspired  the  jury;  he 

has  the  spirit  of  divination  ;  methinks  he  begins  to  affect 

me/    I  will  have  a  positive  verdict,   or  else  you  shaU 

starve."  . 

Penn— "  I  desire  to  ask  the  Eecorder  a  question.     Do 

you  allow  the  verdict  given  of  William  Mead  ?  " 

Eecorder-"  It  cannot  be  a  verdict,  because  you  are 
indicted  for  conspiracy;  and  one  being  found  'Not 
Guilty'  and  not  the  other,  it  is  no  verdict." 

Penn—"  If  '  Not  Guilty  '  be  no  verdict,  then  you  make 
of  the  jury  and  of  the  Great  Charta  a  mere  nose  of  wax." 

Mead-"  How  ?    Is  '  Not  Guilty '  no  verdict  ?  " 

Eecorder—"  It  is  no  verdict." 

Penn-"  I  affirm  that  the  consent  of  a  jury  is  a  verdict 
in  law;  and  if  WiUiam  Mead  be  not  guilty,  it  follows 


5> 


376 


THE    MEERT   MONARCH; 


that  I  am  clear,  since  you  liave  indicted  us  for  conspiracy, 
and  I  could  not  possibly  conspire  alone/' 

Once  more  the  unfortunate  jurors  were  compelled  to 
retire — only  to  persist  in  the  verdict  already  given.  The 
Eecorder,  carried  by  his  wrath  beyond  the  bounds  of 
decency,  exclaimed— "  Your  verdict  is  notliing.  You  play 
upon  the  Court.  I  say  you  shall  go  and  bring  in  another 
verdict,  or  you  shall  starve ;  and  I  will  have  you  carted 
about  the  city  as  in  Edward  the  Third's  time." 

Foreman — "  We  have  given  in  our  verdict,  in  which  we 
are  all  agreed  ;  if  we  give  in  another,  it  will  be  by  force, 
to  save  our  lives." 

LoEB  Mayor — "Take  them  up  to  their  room." 

Officer — "  My  lord,  they  will  not  go." 

The  jurors  were  constrained  to  withdraw — actual  violence 
being  used — and  locked  up  without  food  and  water.  Ex- 
posed to  this  harsh  treatment,  some  weaker  minds  wavered, 
and  would  have  given  way  but  for  the  courageous  resolu- 
tion of  Bushel,  and  others  like  Bushel,  who  understood 
the  importance  of  the  question  at  issue.  So  when,  on 
Monday  morning,  the  Court  once  more  summoned  the 
jurors,  there  was  not,  though  they  had  fasted  two  days 
and  nights,  a  traitor  or  coward  among  them.  Wan  and 
worn  were  they,  with  hunger,  fatigue,  and  a  not  un- 
natural anxiety,  but  determined  to  do  justice  to  their 
fellow-men,  arraigned,  as  they  knew,  on  a  false  charge. 

Clerk — "  Gentlemen,     are    you     agreed     upon     your 
verdict  ?  '^ 

Jury—"  Yes." 

Clerk — "Who  shall  speak  for  you?*' 

Jury — "  Our  foreman." 

Clerk—"  Look  upon  the  prisoners.    What  say  you :  is 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


377 


William  Penn  guilty  of  the  matter  whereof  he   stands 
indicted  in  manner  and  form,  or  not  guilty?  " 

Foreman— "You  have  your  verdict  in  writing." 

Clerk—"  I  will  read  it." 

Eecorder— "  No,  it  is  no  verdict.     The  Court  will  not 

accept  it." 

Foreman—"  If  you  will  not  accept  of  it,  I  desire  to 

have  it  back  again." 

Court—"  The  paper  was  no  verdict,  and  no  advantage 

shall  be  taken  of  you  for  it." 

Clerk— How  say  you :  is  William  Penn  guilty  or  not 

guilty?" 

Foreman  (resolutely)—"  Not  Guilty:' 

Eecorder—"  I  am  sorry,  gentlemen,  you  have  followed 
your  own  judgments  and  opinions  rather  than  the  good 
advice  which  was  given  you.  God  keep  my  life  out  of  your 
hands !  But  for  this  the  Court  fines  you  forty  marks  a 
man,  and  imprisonment  in  Newgate  till  the  fines  be  paid." 

Penn—"  Being  freed  by  the  jury,  I  demand  to  be  set  at 

liberty." 

Lord  Mayor—"  No  ;  you  are  in  for  your  fines." 

Penn—"  Fines  !  What  fines  ?  " 
Lord  Mayor—"  For  contempt  of  Court." 
Penn—"  I  ask  if  it  be  according  to  the  fundamental 
laws  of  England  that  any  Englishman  should  be  fined 
except  by  the  judgment  of  his  peers  ?  Since  it  expressly 
contradicts  the  14th  and  29th  chapters  of  the  Great 
Charter  of  England,  which  says,  ^  No  free  man  ought 
to  be  amerced  except  by  the   oath  of  good  and  lawful 

the  vicinage.'" 

Eecorder-"  Take  him   away ;    put  him   oat  of  the 

CJourt." 


378 


THE    MERRY   MONAECH  ; 


Penn — "I  can  never  urge  the  fundamental  laws  of 
England,  but  you  cry  out,  'Take  him  away!  take  him 
away  !  '  But  this  is  no  wonder,  since  the  Spanish  Inquisi- 
tion sits  so  near  the  Recorder's  heart.  God,  who  is  just, 
will  judge  you  all  for  these  things.'* 

The  prisoners  and  the  jurors  refusing  to  pay  the  fines  so 
arbitrarily  inflicted  upon  them,  were  removed  to  Newgate. 
The  latter,  at  Penn's  instigation,  immediately  brought  an 
action  against  the  Lord  Mayor  and  the  Recorder  for 
having  imprisoned  them  in  defiance  of  law  and  justice.  It 
was  argued  on  the  9th  of  November,  before  the  twelve 
judges,  who  unanimously  decided  in  favour  of  the  appel- 
lants. They  were  immediately  released,  and  Penn  went 
forth  triumphant,  having  struck  one  effectual  blow  in 
vindication  of  the  liberties  of  the  subject. 

*^Son  William,"  said  Admiral  Sir  William  Penn,  as 
he  lay  on  his  death-bed,  a  man  prematurely  old — broken 
down  by  a  life  of  action  and  adventure — "  Son  William,  if 
you  and  your  friends  keep  to  your  plain  way  of  preaching, 
and  also  keep  to  your  plain  way  of  living,  you  will  make 
an  end  of  priests  to  the  end  of  the  world."  In  this  pre- 
diction he  was  wrong,  as  latter-day  prophets  usually  are ; 
but  his  saying  is  worthy  to  be  noted  as  a  proof  of  the 
influence  exercised  upon  the  old  sea-king's  impetuous 
temper  by  his  son's  quiet  steadiness  in  well-doing.  He 
died  on  the  16th  of  September,  ten  days  after  his 
son's  release,  and  was  buried  in  the  parish  church  of 
St.  Mary  Redclyfie,  in  the  city  of  Bristol.  On  his  death- 
bed he  recommended  his  son  to  the  favour  of  the  Duke  of* 
York,  and  also  solicited  for  him  the  King's  protection. 
Penn  was  appointed  sole  executor,  and  inherited  an  estate 
valued  at  £1,500  per  annum,  in  addition  to  claims  on  the 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  OHAKLES  II. 


37^ 


Crown  for  moneys  lent  and  arrears  of  salary,  amounting 

to  about  £15,000. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Penn  made  the  acquain- 
tance of  Gulielma  Maria,  the  fair  daughter  of  Sir  William 
Springett,  a  strict  Puritan  soldier,  who  died  during  the 
siege  of  Arundel  Castle,  a  few  weeks  before  his  daughter's 
birth.     She  lived  with   her   mother,   who   had   married 
a  second  time,  and  chosen  a  man  of  worth  and  capacity, 
the  celebrated  Isaac  Pennington,  at  Chalfont,  in  Bucking- 
bamshire ;  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  poet 
Milton,  and  Milton's  friend  and  pupil,  the  Quaker  Ellwood. 
Pennington  was  a  follower  of  George  Fox ;  and  it  was  their 
mutual  interest  in  the  doctrines  of  the  New  Light  that 
led  to  Penn's  visit  to  Chalfont,  and  consequent  introduc- 
tion to  his  co-religionist's  step-daughter,  with  whom  he 
immediately  fell  in   love.     "  She   was  a  very   desirable 
woman,"  says  Ellwood,  "  whether  regard  was  had  to  her 
outward  person,   which   wanted   nothing   to   render  her 
comely ;  or  to  the  endowments  of  her  mind,  which  were 
very  extraordinary  and  highly  obliging  ;  or  to  her  outward 
fortune,  which  was  fair.^'     To  Penn's  grave  and  earnest 
attachment  she  responded  with  all  the  warmth  of  maiden- 
hood. 

The  young  Quaker,  meanwhile,  was  active  in  his 
vocation.  He  published  an  exposure  of  the  treatment 
to  which  he  had  been  subjected  at  the  Old  Bailey,  under 
the  title  of  "  Truth  rescued  from  Imposture ;  "  as  well  as 
a  « Caveat  against  Popery,"  not  less  moderate  in  tone 
than  cogent  in  reasoning.  The  former  production  roused 
against  him  some  untiring  enemies  in  the  civic  authorities, 
who  eagerly  watched  for— and  soon  found— an  opportunity 
to  make  their  vengeance  felt.     Going  from  Chalfont  to 


580 


THE   MERRY   MONARCH; 


London,  lie  attended,  as  was  liis  wont,  the  Quaker  meet- 
ing-house in  Wheeler  Street;  but  while  preparing  to 
address  the  brethren,  was  seized  by  a  troop  of  cavalry, 
and  hurried  off  to  the  Tower.  This  was  on  the  5th  of 
February,  1671.  In  the  Tower  he  was  confronted  by  his 
most  determined  persecutors,  and  subjected  to  a  rigorous 
and  insulting  examination.  An  attempt  was  made  to 
force  upon  him  the  oath  of  allegiance ;  but  Penn  refused 
to  subscribe,  on  the  ground  that  his  conscience  forbade  him 
to  take  up  any  arms,  whether  for  his  Sovereign  or  against 

his  own  foes. 

Sir  John  Eobinson— "  I  am  sorry  you  put  me  upon  this 
severity.     It  is  no  pleasant  work  to  me.'' 

Penn — "These  are  but  words.  It  is  manifest  that  this 
is  a  prepense  malice.  Thou  hast  several  times  laid  the 
meetings  for  me,  and  this  day  particularly." 

EoBiNsoN— "  No,    I  profess  I  could  not  tell  you  would 

be  there." 

Penn — ''Thine  own  corporal  told  me  that  you  had  in- 
telligence at  the  Tower  that  I  should  be  at  Wheeler  Street 
to-day,  almost  as  soon  as  I  knew  it  myself.  This  is  dis- 
ingenuous and  partial.  I  never  gave  thee  occasion  for 
such  unkindness." 

EoBiNsoN— "I  knew  no  such  thing;  but  if  I  had,  I 
confess  I  should  have  sent  for  thee." 

Penn—"  That  confession  might  have  been  spared.  I 
do  heartily  believe  it." 

EoBiNsoN— "  I  vow,  Mr.  Penn,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  You 
are  an  ingenious  gentleman,  all  the  world  must  allow  that; 
and  you  have  a  plentiful  estate.  Why  should  you  render 
yourself  unhappy  by  associating  with  such  a  simple 
people?" 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


381 


Penn—"  I  confess  I  tave  made  it  my  choice  to  relin- 
quish the  company  of  those  that  are  ingeniously  wicked, 
to  converse  with  those  who  are  more  honestly  simple." 

Robinson — "  I  wish  thee  wiser." 

Penn — "  I  wish  thee  better." 

Robinson—"  You  have  been  as  bad  as  other  folks." 

Penn— "When  and  where?     I  charge   thee  tell  the 

company  to  my  face." 

Robinson—"  Abroad,  and  at  home  too." 
Sheldon-"  No,  no,  Sir  John.     That's  too  much." 
Penn  -"  I  make  this  bold  challenge  to  all  men,  justly 
to  accuse  me  with  ever  having  heard  me  swear,  utter  a 
curse,  or  speak  one  obscene  word-much  less  that  I  make 
it  my  practice.     Thy  words  shall  be  my  burden,  and  I 
trample  thy  slander  under  my  feet." 

Eventually,  Sir  John  Robinson  committed  him  to  New- 
gate for  six  months-a  sentence  which  drew  from  Penn 
this  noble  declaration  :-"!  would  have  thee  and  all  men 
know  that  I  scorn  that  religion  which  is  not  worth  suffer- 
ing for,  and  able  to  sustain  those  that  are  aflaicted  for 
its  sake.     I  leave  you  all,"  he  added,  "  in  perfect  charity." 
During  his  six  months'  imprisonment,  Penn's  intellect 
was  very  active,  and  he   composed  and  published  four 
polemical  treatises :-"  Truth  rescued  from  Imposture," 
"The  Great  Case  of  Liberty  of  Conscience,"  "  An  Apology 
for  the  Quakers,"  and  "  A  Postscript  to  Trath  Exalted." 
He  was  released  in  July,  1G71,  and,  crossing  over  to 
the  Continent,  he  visited  Holland  and  Germany,  making 
known  the  principles   of  the  New  Doctrine,  and  found- 
in-  several  small  Quaker  colonies.     On  his  return  to  Eng- 
land, he  renewed  his  suit  to    Gulielma  Springett,   and 
their  marriage  took  place  in  February,  1672.     After  some 


882 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH; 


months  of  domestic  happiness  at  Eickmansworth,  he  re- 
turned to  active  life,  and  resumed  his  missionary  labours, 
accompanied,  sometimes  by  his  wife,  sometimes  by  the 
leaders  of  his  sect,  the  enthusiastic  Fox  and  the  learned 
Barclay.  With  singular  indefatigability  of  purpose,  he 
wrote  treatise  after  treatise,  pamphlet  upon  pamphlet, 
all  of  a  controversial  character ;  of  these  he  gave  to  the 
world  no  fewer  than  six-and-twenty,  besides  his  two 
political  essays,  "  On  Oaths/'  and  "  England's  Present 
Interest  Considered."  They  may  be  read  by  the  curious 
in  the  collected  edition  of  Penn's  works ;  but  we  cannot 
attribute  to  them  that  literary  merit  which  is  claimed  for 
them  by  some  of  his  fervent  admirers,  nor  can  we  say 
that  they  are  free  from  that  intemperance  of  language 
which  distinguishes  the  polemical  writings  of  the  period. 
Penn's  next  occupation  was  to  draw  up  a  constitution 
for  a  Quaker  colony  settled  in  West  New  Jersey,  in  North 
America  ;  for  the  time  it  was  a  singular  concession  to 
democratic  ideas.  While  allowing  the  widest  tolerance  to 
different  forms  of  religious  belief ^  he  was  not  less  liberal 
in  his  political  views;  providing  for  the  election  of  the 
people's  representatives  by  vote  by  ballot,  and  conferring 
the  franchise  upon  every  adult  man  free  from  crime.  Trial 
by  jury  was  instituted ;  imprisonment  for  debt  was  dis- 
allowed; the  maintenance  of  orphans  was  charged  upon  the 
iState;  and  other  not  less  wise  and  salutary  enactments 
showed  that  the  constitutiun-maker  was  far  in  advance,  not 
only  of  his  own,  but  of  many  succeeding  generations.  The 
colony  proved  completely  successful,  and  attracted  within 
its  borders  a  constantly  increasing  number  of  settlers  :  the 
settlement  in  its  result  proving  that  the  dreams  of  Har- 
rington and  Algernon  Sidney,  the  fancies  of  Sir  Thomas 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II, 


383 


More  and  Lord  Bacon,  were  not  so  Utopian  as  the  wits 
liad  imao-ined.  It  was  the  adumbration  of  that  Christian 
commonwealth  which  Penn  afterwards  founded  amid  the 
pathless  solitudes  of  Pennsylvania. 

In  1677  we  find  him,  accompanied  by  Fox  and  Barclay, 
visiting  Holland  and  Germany,  to  encourage  and  reorga- 
nize the  scattered  settlements  of  the  Friends,  and  diffuse 
the  radiance  of  the  New  Light.     We  can  trace  the  three 
Quaker  Apostles  to  Eotterdam,  Leyden,  Hawerden,  and 
Haarlem.     After  an  absence  of  four  months,  Penn  re- 
turned to  England.     Over  the  incidents  of  the  next  three 
years  we   must  pass   at  a  bound.     His  friendship  with 
Algernon  Sidney  and  his  advocacy  of  civil  and  religious 
rights,  gradually  estranged  from  him  the  confidence  and 
favour  of  Charles  II.  and  the  Duke  of  York ;  and  it  was 
not  without  difficulty  that,  in  1G81,  he  obtained,  in  lieu 
of  the  large  sum  of  money  owing  to  him  by  the  Crown,  a 
grant  of  a  large  tract  of  unoccupied  Crown-land  in  North 
America,  covering  47,000  square  miles,  and  extending  300 
miles  in  length  by  100  miles  in  breadth.     On  the  5th  of 
March,  however,  he  was  summoned  to  attend  the  Council 
at  Whitehall,  and  the  charter  which  conveyed  to  him  that 
noble  domain  was  then  signed  and  sealed.     Penn  had  pro- 
posed to  call  the  province,  in  allusion  to  its  hilly  character. 
New  Wales;  but  as  Secretary  Blathwayte,  a  Welshman, 
objected  to  this  use  of  his  country's  appellation,  he  sub- 
stituted Sylmnia,  on  account  of  its  vast  forests,  and  King 
Charles  good-humouredly  prefixed  the  syllable  Fenn,  in 
compliment  to  the  memory  of  his  great  Admiral.     As  Penn 
stood  covered  in  the   royal   presence,   he   observed  that 
Charles    removed  his   hat.      "  Friend  Charles/'  he   ex- 
claimed, "  why  dost  thou  not  keep  on  thy  hat?''     "Be- 


384 


THE    MERRY   MONARCH  ; 


cause,"  retorted  the  Kiag,  with  a  smile,  "  it  is  the  custom 
of  this  place  for  only  one  person  to  remain  covered  at 

a  time  ! " 

Having  obtained  his  charter,  the  legislator  assiduously 

addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  devising  "  a  complete 

scheme  of  government,"  in  which  he  had  the  assistance  of 

Algernon  Sidney.     Penn  at  this  time  was  residing  with 

his  family  at  Warminghurst,  in  Sussex,  and  it  was  there 

that  the  two  law-givers  carefully  laid  down  those  political 

principles  which  afterwards  inspired  the  constitution  of 

the  United   States.     It   was  their   object   "  to   support 

power  in  reverence   with  the  people,  and  to  secure  the 

people  from  the  abuse  of  power  ;  that  they  might  be  free 

by  their  just  obedience,  and  the  magistrates  honourable 

for  their  just  administration.^^      They  provided  two  legis- 

lative  bodies,  a  council  and  an  assembly,  to  be  elected  by 

the  people.     They  instituted  universal  suffrage,  vote  by 

ballot,   and  payment  of   members.     They    required  no 

property  qualifications   for  their  representatives  ;    they 

divided  the  province  into  convenient  electoral  districts ; 

they  allowed  the  free  exercise  of  every  religious  belief, 

and   maintained  by  careful  enactments  the    security  of 

person  and  property. 

As  soon  as  the  details  of  Penn's  proposed  scheme  of 
government  became  known,  numerous  emigrants  presented 
themselves  to  treat  for  lands  in  a  state  which  promised  to 
be  so  happily  ruled,  and  before  the  end  of  tlie  year  were  on 
their  way  to  the  New  World.  As  early  as  April,  Penn 
had  despatched  his  cousin,  Colonel  xMarkham,  as  his  lieu- 
tenant, to  settle  the  boundary-lines,  take  possession  of  the 
province,  and  open  up  amicable  negotiations  with  the 
Indians  j  a  task  wliich  he  executed  with  much  dexterity. 


OR,   Elf  GLAND   UNDER   CHARLES   II. 


385 


Penn  had  determined  that  no  arms  should  be  borne  in  his 
new  colony,  and  had  resolved  to  trust,  in  his  intercourse 
with  the  aborigines,  to  the  power  of  truth,  justice,  and 
humanity. 

Having  attended  the  death-bed  of  his  beloved  mother, 
and  completed  such  arrangements  as  in  case  of  his  own 
death  might  provide   for  the  comfort  of  his  wife  and 
children,  Penn  took  his  departure  from  Deal  on  the  1st  of 
September.    Unfortunately  a  great  disaster  clouded  his 
voyage  at  the  outset.     The  small-pox  broke  out  on  board 
the  crowded  ship,  and  carried  off  upwards  of  thirty  victims. 
On  the  27th  of  October  the    Welcome  arrived  at  New- 
castle, a  settlement  in  the  Delaware  territory  which  Penn 
had  purchased  from  the  Duke  of  York.     His  landing  was 
the  signal  for  a  general  rejoicing  ;    men,   women  and 
children,  Dutch,  Germans,  and  English,  flocked  to  the 
shore  to  welcome  their  governor,  father,  and  friend.     Next 
day,  at  a  general  assembly,  the  deeds  and  charters  which 
had  made  Penn  proprietor  and  governor  of  Pennsylvania, 
were  read:  after  which,  in  a  speech  glowing  with  noble 
feeling,  he  explained  his  principles  of  government,  pro- 
mising to  every  person  an  equal  and  a  fair  share  of  poli- 
tical power  and  freedom  of    conscience.      The  governor 
and  his  companions  then  began  their  voyage  up  the  river 
Delaware,  with  eager  eyes  surveying  its  wooded  banks, 
and  the  vistas  of  shadowy  valley  and  misty  hill-top  which 
were  occasionally  opened  up  through  breaks  in  the  far- 
spreading  forest.     The  name  of  the  Swede  settlement  of 
Optland  he  changed  to  that  of  Chester ;  and  there  he  con- 
voked the  first  General  Assembly  of  Pennsylvania,  to  adopt, 
with  such   modifications   and   additions   as   might  seem 
desirable,  the  constitution  of  which  he  was  the  author. 

VOL.    II.  C  C 


1 


OQg  THE   MERRY  MONARCH  ; 

After  visiting  the  capitals  of  the  neighbouring  provinces 
of  New  York,  Maryland,  and  New  Jersey,  Penn  proceeded 
to  complete  the  organisation  of    his   new   settlement: 
dividing  the  land  into  lots,  he  sold  it  at  4d.  per  acre,  with 
a  reserve  of  Is.  per  hundred  acres  as  quit-rent,  to  form  a 
revenue  for  the  support  of  the  governor  and  proprietor. 
Certain  equal  aUotments  were  appropriated  to  his  children; 
and  two  manors  of  ten  thousand  acres  each  reserved  as  a 
present  for  his  patron,  the  Duke  of  York.     A  thousand 
acres,  free  of  every  charge,  were  set  apart  for  the  founder 
of  the  Society  of  Friends,  George  Fox. 

For  the  capital  of  his  state  he  selected  an  admirab  e  site 

„  ^opV  of  land  which  extended  between  the  two 
on  a  nan-ow  neck  ot  lana,  wmc 

•„.Wp  rivers  of   the  Delaware  and  Schuylkill,     ihe 
navigable  rivers  o  the  soil  was 

hanks  were  liigiij  and  open  xo  ^t^ixici  ,    ,      , 

fertile,  the  air  mild  and  salubrious.    Here  he  marked  out 
the  plan  of  a  noble  city.    Its  area  was  to  occupy  twe^e 
squarl  miles  ;  each  river  was  to  be  overlooked  by  a  street 
o?bold  design,  and  bordered  by  a  public  P~^y J^ 
these  streets  were  tobe  linked  together  by  the  ll.gh  Sheet 
a  splendid  avenue,  one  hundred  feet  in  width,  to  be  lined 
with  trees,  audits  houses  enriched  with  gardens.  A  street 
Tf  equal  width,  Broad  Street,  was  to  bisect  the  city  from 
north  to  south,  crossing  High  Street  at  a  right-angle.    At 
the  iunction-point  of  these  four  avenues  was  reserved  a 
space   of  ten  acres,  for  a  public  piazza  or  square,  and 
ler  provisions  were  made  to  secure  the  healthiness  and 
Wy'of  the  new  capital;  which,  in  allusion  to  the  grea 
•     •  le  that  underlay  Penn's  theoiy  of  government,  the 
dr  appropriately  named  FhUadel,Ma  (or  Brotherly 

^°The'  new  colony  attracted  to  its  shores  a  constant  stream 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


387 


of  emigration.  In  a  few  months  no  fewer  than  twenty- 
three  vessels  disembarked  their  hundreds  of  adventurers 
at  the  mouth  of  the  Delaware  ;  and  Penn  could  boast.that, 
in  Philadelphia,  eighty  houses  and  cottages  were  ready ; 
that  artisan,  merchant,  and  trader  were  busy  in  buying 
and  selling ;  that  farms  were  springing  up  in  fertile  places; 
and  that  the  land  rescued  from  the  wilderness  already  began 
to  bloom  with  golden  corn.  At  the  end  of  three  years  the 
new  city  contained  six  hundred  houses,  and  there  were 
nearly  as  many  thriving  farms  in  the  surrounding  country. 
The  early  part  of  Penn's  career  as  a  governor  was 
marked  by  an  interesting  incident.  Having  arranged 
with  the  aboriginal  Indians  the  terms  of  purchase  of 
their  lands,  and  concluded  various  treaties  of  peace  and 
amity,  he  proposed  to  the  native  chiefs  that  a  solemn 
conference  should  be  held  for  the  confirmation  of  the  New 
Alliance.*  The  spot  selected  was  a  natural  amphitheatre 
which  ran  gradually  from  the  bank  of  the  Delaware,  in 
the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  young  city  of  Phila- 
delphia, and  to  the  Indians  was  known  as  Shaclmmuxony 
or  "the  meeting-place  of  kings."  Here  a  venerable  elm, 
which  already  had  endured  the  storms  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  winters — which  now  beheld  the  scattered  houses  of 
the  white  men,  but  was  destined  (for  it  flourished  until 
1810)  to  witness  the  growth  of  a  mighty  city  on  the  bank 
of  the  sister-rivers — spread  abroad  its  leafy  shade.  In  the 
distance,  against  the  deep  blue  heaven,  was  defined  the 
undulating  crest  of  a  range  of  mountain  heights ;  while 
the  foreground  was  occupied  by  an  immense  forest  of  pine 
and  cedar,  stretching  far  away  into  the  hunting-grounds 
of  the  red  men.     Surely  the  stage  was  not  an  inappropriate 

*  November  30, 1682. 


\ 


ggg  THE   MEEEY   MONARCH; 

one  for  the  dramatic  scene  which  was  to  be  enacted  upon 
it!    As  for  the  actors,  they  too  presented  some  striking 
and  unusual  features.    Chief  among  them  stood  Wilham 
Penn  the  Founder  of  the  New  Commonwealth,  his  only 
badge  of  authority  a  snken  sash,  but  showing  in  his  mien 
and  bearing  that  he  was  a  man  among  men,  a  bom  leader 
and  ruler     His  costume  consisted  of  an  outer  coat  reach- 
ing to  the  knee;  a  vest  of  nearly  the   same  length;  of 
trunks  ample  in  dimensions,  slashed  at  the  sides,  and  tied 
at  the  knees  with  ribbons;  of  rufEes  at  the  wnst,   and 
a  snowy  fold  of  cambric  round  the  neck,  ending  in  a  fall 
of  lace ;   and  a  hat  of  cavalier  shape,  but  innocent  of 
feathers,  surmounting  a  peruke  of  many  curls      At  his 
right  hand  stood  Cobnel  Markham,  his  lieutenant ;  another 
trusty  and  trusted  adherent,  Pearson,  on  his  left;  and  in 
the  rear,  a  group  of  his  principal  followers.     The  Indian 
Sachems  appeared  in  their  native  attire.     A  mant    of  f  uis 
fell  from  the  shoulder,  the  loins  were  girded  with  cloth 
a  head-dress  of  feathers  waved  in  the  wind,  and  the  bright 
hues  of  their  painted  bodies  glowed  yet  brighter  in  the 
sun.    Taminent,  their  leader,  having  placed  on  his  head  a 
chaplet,  into  which  a  small  horn  was  woven-a  token   hat 
the  place  was  thenceforth  sacred,  and  the  persons  of  all 
who    assembled   there    inviolable -the   Sachems   seated 
themselves  on  the  ground  in  order  of  -f -^3^'  ^^  P"; 
pared,  with  their  Indian  taciturnity,  to  hear  what  Onas 
L  they  had  named  the  white  chief,  might  wish  to  say  to 
them.     Penn  spoke  to  them  in  their  own  language.     His 
words  were  not  many,  but  they  were  to  the  purpose,  and 
testified  to  the  anxiety  felt  by  the  white  men  to  live  with 
Z  red  men  in  peace  and  good-will.     He  then  produced 
the  Treaty  of  Friendship,  which  declared  that  m  all  time 


on,    ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


389 


to  come  ^'  the  children  of  Onas  and  the  natives  of  the 
Lenni  Lenape  "  should  be  as  brothers ;  that  all  roads  and 
ways  should  be  held  as  free  and  open;  that  if  any  white 
m  an  injured  a  red  man,  or  any  red  man  inflicted  harm 
upon  a  white  man,  the  sufferer  should  lay  his  complaint 
before  the  proper  authorities,  and  the  case  be  investigated 
by  twelve  impartial  men,  and  the  injury  buried  ^'in  a 
bottomless  pit;"  that  the  Lenni  Lenape  and  the  white 
men  should  help  each  other  in  their  time  of  need ;  and, 
lastly,  that  both  should  transmit  to  their  descendants 
this  chain  of  friendship,  to  the  intent  that  it  might 
yearly  grow  stronger  and  brighter,  and  be  kept  free  from 
rust  or  blemish,  so  long  as  the  water  ran  down  the  creeks 
and  rivers,  and  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  gave  light  to 

earth. 

Taminent  immediately  announced  the  assent  of  the 
Indian  Sachems  to  this  remarkable  treaty ;  the  only  one, 
says  Yoltaire,  the  world  has  known  that  was  never  rati- 
fied by  oath,  and  never  broken. 

Penn  returned  to  England  in  August,  1684.  He  was 
summoned  thither  by  urgent  private  affairs ;  and  on  his 
arrival  was  received  with  much  favour  by  Charles  11.  and 
the  Duke  of  York,  the  latter  of  whom,  within  a  few 
months,  succeeded  to  the  throne.  Penn  was  at  once  en- 
rolled among  the  courtiers  of  the  new  sovereign.  This  is 
a  period  of  his  career  which  no  honest  biographer  can 
regard  with  unmingled  satisfaction ;  for  we  cannot  think 
that  Mr.  Paget,  in  his  "  New  Examen,"  with  all  his  skill 
and  enthusiasm,  has  succeeded  in  vindicating  it  completely 
from  Macaulay's  censures.  It  may  be  admitted,  however, 
that  he  endeavoured  to  turn  his  influence  to  good  account ; 
that  he  pleaded  the  cause  of  Locke,  who  had  been  driven 


\ 


390 


THE  MEREY  MONARCH; 


into  exile  for  no  other  offence  than  that  he  was  the  friend 
of  Shaftesbury ;  and  had  interceded  on  behalf  of  Mon- 
mouth's misguided  partisans. 

One  of  the  unhappy  victims  of  the  *' reign  of  terror" 
which  prevailed  after  the  victory  of  Sedgemoor  was  Henry 
Cornish,  formerly  a  pensioner  of  Algernon  Sidney,   and 
latterly  a  friend  of  Penn.      Having  provoked  the  anger  of 
Charles  II.  and  his  Court  by  the  frankness  and  courage  of 
his  opinions,  he  had  been  accused  of  complicity  in  the  Rye 
House  Plot  (168:3),  but  on  such  untenable  grounds  that 
his   persecutors    were    fain    to   withdraw    the    charge. 
After  Monmouth's  rebellion  the  attack  was  renewed,  and 
supported  by  bribed  witnesses.     The  mockery  of  a  trial 
was  played  out ;   a  verdict  of  Guilty   extorted  from   a 
reluctant  but  timid  jury ;  and  the  unfortunate  man  was 
hung  npon  a  gibbet  erected  in  front  of  his  own  house  in 
Cheapside.     He  suffered  with   the   calmness   of  a  hero, 
protesting  to  the  last  his  innocence.     Penn,   who  had 
failed  in  his  efforts  to  obtain  a  commutation  of  the  cruel 
sentence,  attended  him  to  the  scaffold.  He  was  afterwards 
present   at  the  last   scene  in  the  life  of  anotlier  victim 
of  the  King's  tyranny,  for  whom  he  had  also  interceded, 
and  in  vain,  Elizabeth   Garnet.     This  admirable  woman 
was  an  Anabaptist,  who  had  devoted  her  time  and  fortune 
to  the  relief  of  the   miserable   inmates   of  the   London 
prisons-anticipating  by  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Fry's  noble  work  of  charity— and  after    the 
battle  of  Sedgemoor  had  sheltered  in  her  house  a  fugitive 
from  that  fatal  field.     He  repaid  her   generosity  by  in- 
forming against  her,  earning  his   own  wretched  life  by 
betraying  his  protectress.     For  this  venial  violation  of  the 
law  she  was  arrested,  tried,  and  burned  alive  at  Tyburn. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


391 


Her  sufferings,  and  the  fortitude  with  which  she  endured 
them— calmly  arranging  the  faggots  and  straw  around 
her  so  as  to  increase  the  violence  of  the  flames— produced 
a  most  painful  impression  upon  the  spectators,  so  that 
many  were  affected  even  to  tears. 

It  was  not  long  after  these  judicial  murders  that  the 
perjury  of  the  witnesses  who  had  sworn  away  the  life 
of  Cornish  was  clearly  proved.  James  seemed  shocked 
that  he  had  consented  to  the  execution  of  an  innocent 
man ;  restored  his  estates  to  his  family ;  and  sentenced 
his  murderers  to  perpetual  imprisonment. 

The  influence  which  Penn  exercised  over  James  II., 
and  his   daily  attendance   at   Court,   soon  originated  a 
report  that   he  was    a   Papist    in   disguise.     It  is  the 
misfortune   of   men  in   advance  of  their  age  that  their 
best  and  wisest  actions  are  always  subjected  to  the  most 
malignant  construction,  and  Penn  was  in  advance  of  his 
age   on  the   question   of  religious  tolerance.     A  strong 
bond  of  sympathy  undoubtedly  existed  between  tlie  King 
and  himself,  because  both  were   members   of  religious 
bodies  which  had  been  subjected  to  a  common  persecu- 
tion and  prescription.      But  this  fact  was  not  perceived  or 
not  understood    by    his  contemporaries,   and  even    the 
judicious   and    amiable  Tillotson    adopted    the    popular 
belief.      A  casual  acquaintance  asked  Penn,  one  day,  how 
it  was  that  Barclay  and  himself  were  such  ardent  lovers 
of  literature,   when  the   Friends  affected  to   despise  it  ? 
Penn  replied  that  it  was  probably  owing,  in  his  case,  to 
Ms  early  education  at  Saumur.     His  interrogator  had  no 
ear  for  French,  and  went  about  repeating  that  the  Quaker 
had  acknowledged  himself  to  have  been  educated  at  the 
famous  Jesuit  College  of  St.  Omar  I     Penn  laughed  at 


392 


THE   MEEET   MONARCH  ; 


these  calumnies  until  they  seemed  in  some  measure 
countenanced  by  TiUotson,  his  intimate  acquaintance, 
when  he  addressed  him  with  his  usual  frankness,  and 
so  clearly  and  strongly  vindicated  his  acceptance  of  the 
leading  doctrines  of  Protestantism,  that  the  divine  averred 
his  full  conviction  ''  that  there  was  no  just  ground  for  his 
suspicion,  and  therefore  did  heartily  beg  his  pardon  for 
it/^— (April  29th,  1686.) 

It  was  at  this  time  that  James  II.  meditated  a  repeal  of 
the  Test  Acts,  which  required  from  every  candidate  for 
public  office  a  declaration  of  his  adhesion  to  the  Church 
of  England ;  but  finding  his  Parliament  hostile  to  any 
measure  which  afforded  relief  to  the  Roman  Catholics,  he 
dispensed  with  these  Acts  by  virtue  of  his  own  authority. 
Anxious   in   this   critical   state  of  affairs   to  obtain  the 
support  of  William  of  Orange,  who  was  regarded  through- 
out Christendom  as  the  champion  and  shield  of  Protes- 
tantism, he  dispatched  Penn  to  the  Hague  on  a  private 
and  confidential  mission.     If  the  Prince   would   support 
James  in  the  repeal  of  the  Test  Acts  and  tlie  passing  of 
an  Act  of  Toleration,   Penn  was   instructed  to  promise 
him  assistance  in  his  opposition  to  the  aggressive  power 
of  France.  But  however  liberal  might  be  William's  private 
views,   he  was  not  disposed  to  risk  his  chance  of  suc- 
cession to  the  throne  of  England  by  openly  contravening 
the  feeling  and  opinion  of  the  country ;    so  that   while 
expressing  his  willingness  to  accept  an  Act  of  Toleration, 
he  objected  to  the  proposed  repeal  of  the  Test  Acts.     In 
all  ecclesiastical   questions  he    was    guided  by   Bishop 
Burnet,  then  an  exile  in  Holland,  who  cherished  a  strong 
dislike  for  Penn,  and  chose  to  regard  him  as  a  ''  concealed 
Papist."      "He   was    a    talking,  vain   man,"    says  the 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


393 


malicious  prelate,  "who  had  been  long  in  the  King's 
favour.  He  had  such  an  opinion  of  his  own  faculty  of 
persuading,  that  he  thought  none  could  stand  before 
it  •  thouo-h  he  was  singular  in  that  opinion  ;  for  he  had 
a  tedious  luscious  way,  that  was  not  apt  to  overcome 
a  man's  reason,  though  it  might  tire  his  patience." 

Having  failed  in  his  mission,  Penn  returned  to  England 
by  way   of  Holland   and   Germany.     He    continued   his 
attendance  at  Court,   endeavouring  to   cheek   the  King 
in  the  arbitrary  career  on  which  he  had  unwisely  entered, 
and  striving  to  counteract  the  Jesuitical  influence  that  so 
injuriously  affected   his   actions.     He   showed   hiui  that 
Parliament  would  not  consent  to  a  revocation  of  the  Test 
and  Penal  Acts,  and  that  no  concord  could  exist  between 
him  and  his  Parliament  until  he  acted  on  more  moderate 
counsels,  and  expelled   from  his  Court  the  Jesuits   and 
violent  Papists  who  were  urging  him  to  his  speedy  ruin. 
When  he  issued   his  Declaration   of  Indulgence   to   all 
relio"ious  denominations,   Penn  warned  him  that  to  the 
popular  mind  it  would  seem  only  an  ingenious  device  for 
the  extension  of  more  favour  and  the  concession  of  greater 
power   to  the  Papists,   and  that  it   was  imperative   he 
should   not  put  it  into  operation   without  the    sanction 
of  the  legislature.     In  the  King's  arbitrary  interference 
with  the  rights    of  the   Fellows    of  Magdalen    College, 
Oxford,  Penn  boldly  stood  forward  as  their  uncompromis- 
ing  advocate.     When  his    honest  expostulations    were 
ignored,  he  would  fain  have  retired  to  his  commonwealth 
across  "  the  western  wave,"    and  remained   in   England 
only  at  the  urgent  request  of  the   King,  who  declared 
himself  resolute  to  repeal  the  Penal  Laws  against  religious 
sects,  and  establish  toleration ;  ''  in  which  good  work,"  he 


394 


THE  MEERT  MONARCH; 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


395 


said,  "  lie  should  have  to  rely  much  on  Penn's  help  and 

counsel/' 

It  is  not  within  our  province  to  dwell  upon  the  events  of 
the  last  few  months  of  James's  disastrous  reign.     When 
William   III.   arrived  in  the   capital,   those  of  the   late 
King's  councillors  who  had  not  betrayed  him  fled  from 
the  country,  but  Penn  remained.     He  was  conscious  that 
he   had   done  nothing  but  his  duty,  and  believed  that 
he  had  no  reason  to  fear  any  man.     He  no  longer,  he 
said,  owed  allegiance  to  James  as  a  King,  but  should  still 
respect  him  as  his  friend  and  patron.     His  fiivour  with 
the  late  King,  however,  had  kept  alive  suspicion  ;  and, 
being  regarded  as  a  Papist  concealed  under  the  mask  of  a 
Quaker,  "he  was  summoned  before  the  Privy  Council  in 
December,  1683,  and  though  no  charge  was  proved  against 
him,  compelled  to  give  security  in  £G,000  for  his  appear- 
ance  on  the  first  day  of  the  following  term.     At  Easter  he 
appearrd,  bat  no  accusers  came  forward,  and  "the  judge 
in  open  court  declared  that  he  stood  cleared  and  free  of 
any  charge  that  had  been  made  against  him.'^ 

This  long  friendship  with  the  exiled  King  afforded  his 
enemies,  however,  a  foundation  on  which  they  continued 
to  base  tlieir  calumnies.     In  the  spring  of  1690,  when  the 
country  was  disturbed  with  alarms  of  a  French  invasion, 
he  was  suddenly  arrested  on  the  pretext  that  he  was 
engaged  in    a  treasonable    correspondence  with    James 
Stuart.      Being   examined    before    William  himself,  he 
satisfactorily  disproved  the  accusation;  but  was  neverthe- 
less  bound  over  to  appear  in  Trinity  term,  and  answer 
any  charges  that  might  be  preferred  against  him.     At  the 
appointed  time  he  duly  presented  himself,  but  was  im- 
mediately discharged. 


For  a  third  time  in  the  same  year  he  was  exposed  to 
persecution.      He  was  accused  of  having  joined  in  Lord 
Preston's  conspiracy  to  restore  the  deposed  monarch,  and 
though  the  accusation  was  unsupported  by  a  tittle  of  evi- 
dence, William  profited  by  it  to  deprive  him  of  the  right 
of  appointing  a  governor  to  his  colony  of  Pennsylvania. 
At  this  very  juncture  Penn  had  engaged  a  ship  to  carry 
him  to  the  New  World ;  but  the  illness  and  death  of  George 
Fox  detained  him  awhile  in  England.      He  attended  his 
funeral,  and  over  his  grave  delivered  a  glowing  panegyric. 
Just  as  the  crowd  dispersed,  and  when  Penn  had  left  the 
ground,  a    posse    of   constables,   armed    with   warrants, 
arrived  to  take  him  into  custody  on  another  charge   of 
treason  and  conspiracy,  preferred  against  him  by  William 
Fuller,  the  ''  Titus  Gates  "  of  the  reign  of  William  III. 
Weary  of  struggling  against  the  malice  of  his  foes,  and 
unable  through  his  conscientious  scruples  to  deny  "  upon 
oath  "  the  charges  invented   against  him,  Penn  sought 
safety  in  seclusion.  Meantime  the  King  appointed  Colonel 
Fletcher  Governor  of  Pennsylvania— a  soldier  over  the 
heads  of  peaceful  Quakers  !— and  Penn's  anxiety  for  the 
welfare  of  his  young  commonwealth  increased  daily.    Nor 
did  his  domestic  afPairs  fail  to  trouble  him.     In  order  that 
his  colony  might  not  be  burdened  with  pecuniary  liabili- 
ties, he  had  maintained  the  government  out  of  his  private 
means,  expending  not  less  than  £120,000.     His  estates  in 
Ireland  had  been  confiscated ;  while,  at  home,  his  lands  in 
Kent  and   Essex  hardly   sufficed  to  meet  the  immense 
claims  advanced  by  a  dishonest  steward,  John  Forde,  in 
whom  he  had  placed  his  entire  confidence.     Locke  now 
came  to  the  front  to  repay  the  kindness  shown  to  him  by 
Penn  in  his  days  of  prosperity,  and  interceded  for  his 


59C 


THE   MEERY  MONAECH  ; 


pardon.  But  tlie  Quaker  protested  that  he  had  done  no 
wrong,  and  that,  therefore,  no  pardon  was  needful.  He 
threw  Mmself,  he  said,  upon  the  King's  justice,  not  upon 
his  mercy.     He  would  not  receive  his  liberty  upon  any 

conditions. 

A  greater  affliction  than  all  now  befell  him,  for  those 
whom  Heaven  loves  most  it  chastens  most.  Worse  than 
loss  of  fortune,  loss  of  fame,  or  the  wreck  of  Ms  hopes  and 
anticipations  was  the  death  of  his  loved  and  loving  wife, 
Gulielma  Maria,  at  Hoddesdon,  in  Hertfordshire,  on  the 
23rd  of  February,  1693.  Her  husband's  sufferings,  sorrows, 
and  misfortunes  brought  her  to  a  premature  grave,  though 
a  kind  Providence  spared  her  long  enough  to  see  the  sun- 
shine breaking  through  the  heavy  clouds  and  the  bright 
dawn  slow-reddening  upon  the  stormy  night. 

The   inftimy  of   Fuller  having  been  publicly  demon- 
strated,  and  the  House  of  Commons  having  branded  him 
as  a  rogue,  cheat,  and  false  witness,  many  of  Penn's  most 
influential  friends  interfered  to  procure  his  restoration  to 
the  position  of  which  he  had  been  deprived  upon  Fuller's 
single  and  unsupported  evidence.   They  pressed  his  case 
with  so  much    earnestness   that   William   summoned   a 
Council    at   Westminster    (in    November,    1692),    before 
whom  Penn  defended  himself  with  such  force  and  clear- 
ness that  the  King  declared  his  entire  satisfaction,  and 
absolved  him  from  all  the  charges  at  various  times  pre- 
ferred  against  him.      His  enforced  retirement,  however, 
had  not°been  without  profit :  its  results  were  two  works 
of  widely  different  character,  but  of  equal  merit—"  An 
Essay  towards  the  Present  and  Future  Peace  of  Europe  " 
and  "  Some  Fruits  of  Solitude." 
We  must  pass  rapidly  over  the  next  six  years.  Through 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II. 


397 


Queen  Mary's  generous  action  he  was  reinstated  in  his 
government  of  Pennsylvania;    the  military  commission 
was    revoked ;    and  he  was  bound   simply  to   maintain 
eighty  men,  fully  armed  and  equipped,  as  the  contin- 
gent to  be  furnislied  by  his  State,  so  long  as  the  war 
with  France  lasted.     In  January,  1696,  having  found  the 
need  of  a  woman's  gentle  hand  to  keep  order  in  his  house- 
hold, he  married,  at  Bristol,  Hannah  Callowhill,  by  whom 
he  had  six  children.     In  the  following  April  he  lost  his 
eldest  son  (by  his  first  wife),  Springett,  in  the  twenty- 
first  year  of  his  age.   He  seems  to  have  been  a  young  man 
of  rare  promise.     After  paying  a  brief  visit  to  his  Irish 
estates  in  the  summer  of  1698,  Penn  received  intelligence 
of  growing  troubles  and  dissensions  in  Pennsylvania,  which 
determined  him  to  go  there  with  a  view  to  the  reform  of 
its  administration.      He  embarked,  with  his  wife  and  all 
his  children,  except  William,  the  eldest  surviving  son,  in 
September,  1699,  and  in  December  arrived  at  Philadelphia, 
where  he  was  received  with  an  enthusiastic  welcome.  The 
settlers  hailed  him  as  their  father  and  friend,  whose  pre- 
sence would  compose  all  differences,  and  whose  authority 
would  reduce  chaos  into  order.     Nor  were  they  disap- 
pointed in  their  expectations.    With  equal  sagacity,  judg- 
ment, and  resolution  he  reformed  the  numerous  abuses 
which  had  crept  into  the  administration  of  the  State,  put 
down  the  contraband  trade  from  which  the  colony  had 
long  been  suffering,  dismissed  corrupt  and  incompetent 
officers,  healed  the  jealousies  of  faction,  and  encouraged 
the  development  of  commercial  enterprise  by  many  wise 
and  liberal  measures.      Meanwhile,  at   his   mansion  of 
Pennsbury,  he  maintained  a  decorous  state.   He  had  his 
carriages,  his  horses,  and  his  yacht,  for  Penn,  though  a 


'p»^''iiiWC^'>»^ 


398 


THE    MERRY    MONARCH; 


Quaker,  was  no  Pharisaical  precisian ;  lie  kept  his  cellar 
of  rare  wines ;  his  house  was  splendidly  furnished ;    he 
loved  to  see  his  table  well  supplied;  his  daughters  dressed 
like  gentlewomen ;  he  himself  was  choice,  though  plain, 
in  his  attire;  his  gardens  were  planted  with  the  most 
beautiful  shrubs  and  flowers ;  and  everywhere  prevailed  a 
spirit  of  calm  contentment,  due,  no  doubt,  to  the  mild  and 
genial  influence  of  the  master.     "  To  innocent  dances  and 
country  fairs,"  says  Mr.  Hepworth  Dixon,  "  he  not  only 
made  no  objection,  but  countenanced  them  by  his  own 
and  his  family^s  presence.     Those  gentle  charities  which 
had  distinguished  him  in  England  continued  to  distin- 
guish  him  in  Pennsylvania :  he  released  the  poor  debtor 
from  prison ;  he  supported  out  of  his  private  purse  the  sick 
and  the  destitute ;  many  of  the  aged  who  were  beyond 
labour  and  without  friends  were  regular  pensioners  on  his 
bounty  to   the  extent  of  six  shillings  a  fortniglit :    and 
there  were  numerous  persons  about  him  whom  he  had 
rescued  from   distress   in   England,  and  whom  he   sup- 
ported, wholly  or  in  part,  until  their  own  industry  made 
them  independent  of  his  assistance." 

While  he  was  thus  displaying  his  practical  common- 
sense,  and  building  up  securely  the  structure  of  his  new 
commonwealth,  aff'airs  in  England  were  taking  a  direction 
entirely  adverse  to  his  just  rights  and  legitimate  interests. 
The  English  Government  was  developing  a  measure,  neces- 
sary in  itself  though  harsh  in  its  incidence  upon  indivi- 
duals, which  proposed  to  annihilate  the  great  colonial 
proprietaries  and  weld  tlie  separate  states  into  a  homo- 
geneous colonial  system.  Such  a  msure  must  inevitably 
deprive  Penn,  and  men  like  Penn,  of  the  fruits  of  their 
pecuniary  outlay,  their  labour,  and  their  enterprise,  by 


OR,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


399 


wresting  from  them  the  settlements  which  they  had 
founded  and  carefully  nursed  into  prosperity.  The  owners 
of  Pennsylvanian  property  then  in  England  succeeded, 
however,  in  procuring  a  postponement  of  the  bill  untd 
Penn  could  return  to  plead  their  cause  and  his  own; 
but  they  sent  urgent  messages  to  the  founlei-  of  their 
colony  to  return  to  England  at  once  if  he  would  prevent 
an  act  of  shameful  spoliation. 

Penn  made  haste  to  comply:  he  left  Philadelphia  on  the 
16th  of  September,  1701,  and  arrived  in  Engl md  about 
the  middle  of   December.     But  in  the  interval  a  great 
change  had  taken  i)lace  in  the  position  of  alf airs.   William 
III.  was  dead,  and  in  the  seat  of  that  sagacious  statesman- 
king  sat  the  narrow-minded  Anne.    The  Stuarts,  however, 
had  a  hereditary  liking  for  Penn,  and  Anne  imaiediately 
welcomed  him  to  her  Court,  and  shoAved  him  in  many 
ways  her  royal  favour.     No  more  was  heard  of  the  ob- 
noxious  Colonies  Bill.     Penn  took  up  his  resilience  at 
Knio-htsbridfre,  and   afterwards,  in    1706,  at    Brentford. 
There  he  was  living  in  peace  and  contentment  when  the 
event  occurred  which  overclouded  his  later  years.   He  had 
lono-  entrusted  the  management  of  his  affiiirs  to  Philip 
Ford,  a  Quaker,  who  died  in  1702,  after  having  abused  his 
master's  generous  confidence  by  wholesale  fraud  and  em- 
bezzlement.    "The  lawyer,"  says  Mr.  Hepworth  Dixon, 
"knew  how   to  take   advantage  of  his  client's  want  of 
worldly  prudence;  and  in  an  evil  hour,  when  Penn  needed 
money  to  go  over  to  America  the  second  time,  he  induced 
him  to  give  him— as  a  mere  matter  of  form— a  deed  of  sale 
of  .the  colony,  on  which  he  advanced  him  £2,800.     This 
deed  was  considered  by  Penn,  and  professedly  considered 
by  Ford,  as  a  mortgage.    Ford  received  money  on  account 


^i,HB*.gges> 


1 


400 


THE    MEEEY   MONAECH  ; 


OE,    ENGLAND    UNDEE    CHAELES   II. 


401 


of  the  province,  and  made  such  advances  as  the  governor- 
required  ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  latter  returned  to  Eng- 
land  that  the  first  suspicion  of  his  steward's  villany  crossed 
his  mind.  He  was  loath  to  entertain  it,  and  tried  for  a 
time  to  think  himself  deceived.  But  as  soon  as  the  old 
Quaker  died  his  knavery  came  to  the  full  light  of  day. 
Penn,  from  his  uncertain  remembrance  of  the  various 
sums'  advanced  and  received,  believed  the  mortgage-or 
deed  of  sale-^to  be  nearly  cancelled  ;  but  the  funeral  rites 
were  hardly  paid  to  the  dead  before  the  widow  sent  in  a 
bill  for  £14,000,  and  threatened  to  seize  and  sell  the  pro- 
vince if  it  were  not  immediately  paid." 

A  careful  examination  of  the  accounts  and  papers  which 
Penn  had  fortunately  preserved  showed,  however,  that 
while  Ford  had  received  £17,859,  he  had  paid  on  Penn's 
account  only  £16/200,  so  that  his  estate  was  indebted  to 
Penn  in  a   sum    of  £1,659.      Desirous    of   sparing  the 
Quaker  community  a  public  scandal,  Penn  proposed  that 
the  whole  matter  at  dispute  should  be  referred  to  arbitra- 
tion •  but  Ford's  representatives  took  advantage  of  the 
written   instrument,  the  deed  of  sale,  to   enforce  their 
unjust  claim.     On  a  thorough  examination  taking  place, 
it  appeared  that  Penn,  on  the  said  deed  of  sale,  owed 
£4,803,  which  he  offered  to  pay;  but  his  enemies  knew 
they  hid  him  in  their  power,  as  the  deed  was  uncancelled, 
-threw  the  case  into  Chancery,  obtained  a  verdict  against 
him,  attempted  to  arrest  liim  while  he  was  attending  ser- 
vice in  Gracechurch  Street,  and  eventually  drove  him  for 
security  into  the  Fleet  prison.      He  found  lodgings  in^the 
Old  Bailey,  within  what  were  then  termed  "  the  rules,"  or 
jurisdiction,  of  the  Fleet.     At  length,  to  get  free  of  his 
trials  and  anxieties,  he  consented,  after  a  painful  mental 


struggle,  to  mortgage  his  beloved  Pennsylvania  for  the 
sum  of  £6,800,  advanced  by  several  friends,  while  he  sold 
his  Sussex  estate  at  Warminghurst  for  £6,050. 

The  air  of  London  disagreeing  with  his  constitution, 
shaken  as  it  was  by  confinement  and  severe  mental  suffer- 
ing, Penn  took  a  country  house  at  Ruscombe,  in  Berkshire 
in  1710,  and  spent  there  his  remaining  years.  In  the 
early  part  of  1712  he  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  paralysis, 
which  seriously  affected  his  intellectual  powers.  On  his 
partial  recovery  he  again  directed  his  attention  to  his 
Western  Commonwealth;  but  the  effort  proved  too  much 
for  the  enfeebled  brain,  and  a  second  attack  of  paralysis 
resulted  in  October,  1712.  Once  more  he  recovered,  slowly 
and  imperfectly,  but  only  to  undergo  a  third  and  more 
violent  shock,  in  the  following  December,  which  com- 
pletely incapacitated  him  from  any  further  exertion.  At 
first  his  life  seemed  to  be  in  imminent  danger,  but  his 
wonderful  constitution  asserted  itself,  and  he  survived  for 
some  years,  soothed  by  the  indefatigable  devotion  of  his 
wife  and  surrounded  by  the  pious  attentions  of  his  friends. 
His  memory  was  gone  and  his  speech  imperfect ;  but  it 
was  observed  that  the  good  man's  affections  remained 
unimpaired.  In  birds  and  flowers  and  children,  in  song 
and  perfumes  and  bright  colours,  in  things  gentle  and 
attractive,  he  showed  a  keen  delight.  It  was  the  calm, 
sweet  sunset  of  a  long  autumn  day,  which  had  opened 
with  a  radiant  morning — had  known  clouds  and  the  stress 
of  storm  at  noon — and  now  slowly  descended  into  the 
eternal  sea  with  a  ti-anquil  glow  and  genial  hush. 

William  Penn  died,  between  two  and  three  in  the  morn- 
ing, on  the  30th  of  July,  1718,  in  his  seventy-fourth  year. 
He  was  buried  in  the  Quakers'  cemetery  at  Jordans,  near 


VOL.  II. 


D  D 


400 


THE   MEEEY   MONAKCH  ; 


of  tte  province,  and  made  such  advances  as  the  governor 
required  ;  and  it  was  not  until  the  latter  returned  to  Eng- 
land that  the  first  suspicion  of  his  steward's  villany  crossed 
his  mind.      He  was  loath  to  entertain  it,  and  tried  for  a 
time  to  think  himself  deceived.     But  as  soon  as  the  old 
Quaker  died  his  knavery  came  to  the  full  light  of  day. 
Penn,  from  his  uncertain  remembrance  of  the  various 
sums'  advanced  and  received,  believed  the  mortgage-or 
deed  of  sale-to  be  nearly  cancelled  ;  but  the  funeral  rites 
were  hardly  paid  to  the  dead  before  the  widow  sent  in  a 
bill  for  £14,000,  and  threatened  to  seize  and  sell  the  pro- 
vince if  it  were  not  immediately  paid." 

A  careful  examination  of  the  accounts  and  papers  which 
Penn  had   fortunately  preserved  showed,  however,  that 
while  Ford  had  received  £17,859,  he  had  paid  on  Penn's 
account  only  £16,200,  so  that  his  estate  was  indebted  to 
Penn  in  a   sum    of  £1,659.      Desirous    of   sparing  the 
Quaker  community  a  public  scandal,  Penn  proposed  that 
the  whole  matter  at  dispute  should  be  referred  to  arbitra- 
tion •  but  Ford's  representatives  took  advantage  of  the 
written   instrument,  the  deed  of  sale,  to   enforce  their 
unjust  claim.     On  a  thorough  examination  taking  place, 
it  appeared  that  Penn,  on  the  said  deed  of  sale,  owed 
£4  303,  which  he  offered  to  pay ;  but  his  enemies  knew 
thiy  had  him  in  their  power,  as  the  deed  was  uncancelled, 
—threw  the  case  into  Chancery,  obtained  a  verdict  against 
Mm,  attempted  to  arrest  him  while  he  was  attending  ser- 
vice in  Gracechurch  Street,  and  eventually  drove  him  for 
security  into  the  Fleet  prison.      He  found  lodgings  in^the 
Old  Bailey,  within  what  were  then  termed  «  the  rules,"  or 
jurisdiction,  of  the  Fleet.     At  length,  to  get  free  of  his 
trials  and  anxieties,  he  consented,  after  a  painful  mental 


i*  ■■-«•■ 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


401 


struggle,  to  mortgage  his  beloved  Pennsylvania  for  the 
sum  of  £6,800,  advanced  by  several  friends,  while  he  sold 
his  Sussex  estate  at  Warminghurst  for  £6,050. 

The  air  of  London  disagreeing  with  his  constitution, 
shaken  as  it  was  by  confinement  and  severe  mental  suffer- 
ing, Penn  took  a  country  house  at  Ruscombe,  in  Berkshire 
in  1710,  and  spent  there  his  remaining  years.     In  the 
early  part  of  1712  he  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  paralysis, 
which  seriously  affected  his  intellectual  powers.     On  his 
partial  recovery  he  again   directed  his  attention  to  his 
Western  Commonwealth ;  but  the  effort  proved  too  much 
for  the  enfeebled  brain,  and  a  second  attack  of  paralysis 
resulted  in  October,  1712.    Once  more  he  recovered,  slowly 
and  imperfectly,  but  only  to  undergo  a  third  and  more 
violent   shock,  in  the  following  December,   which   com- 
pletely incapacitated  him  from  any  further  exertion.    At 
first  his  life   seemed  to  be  in  imminent  danger,  but  his 
wonderful  constitution  asserted  itself,  and  he  survived  for 
some  years,  soothed  by  the  indefatigable  devotion  of  his 
wife  and  surrounded  by  the  pious  attentions  of  his  friends. 
His  memory  was  gone  and  his  speech  imperfect ;  but  it 
was  observed  that  the  good  man's   affections   remained 
unimpaired.      In  birds  and  flowers  and  children,  in  song 
and  perfumes  and  bright  colours,  in  things  gentle  and 
attractive,  he  showed  a  keen  delight.    It  was  the  calm, 
sweet  sunset  of  a  long  autumn  day,  which  had  opened 
with  a  radiant  morning — had  known  clouds  and  the  stress 
of  storm  at  noon — and  now  slowly  descended  into  the 
eternal  sea  with  a  tranquil  glow  and  genial  hush. 

William  Penn  died,  between  two  and  three  in  the  morn- 
ing, on  the  30th  of  July,  1718,  in  his  seventy-fourth  year. 
He  was  buried  in  the  Quakers'  cemetery  at  Jordans,  near 

VOL.  II.  D  D 


^Q2  THE   MEBEY  MONARCH; 

Chalfont,  by  the  side  of  his  first  wife  and  Springett,  their 
eldest  son.  His  second  wife,  with  four  more  of  his  children, 
^ere  afterwards  interred  in  the  same  spot.  No  memorial 
xnarks  the  great  Quaker's  last  resting-place ;  bu*  it  xs 
nnder  the  fifth  mound  from  the  chapel  door  that  William 

Penn  lies.  , . 

In  noticing  the  Men  of  Letters  of  the  Eestoration 

period  it  would  be  unpardonable  to  forget  Sir  Boger 
L'Estrange,  one    of  the  earliest   of   our  political   pam- 
phleteers.   Bom  in  1616,  he  fought  as  a  loyal  Cavalier 
during  the  Great  Civil  War;  was  captiued  by  the  army 
of  the  Parliament,  tried,  and  condemned  to  death ;  and 
for  four   years  lay  in  prison,  expecting   that  each  day 
would  bring  him  the  summons   to  the   scaffold.     It  is 
said  that  at  this  time  he  wrote  the   poem-superior  to 
his  other  compositions-entitled  "The  Liberty  of  the 
Imprisoned   Eoyalists,"   from   which  we    extract  a  few 
stanzas : — 

«'  Beat  on,  proud  billows !  Boreas  blow  ! 

Swell,  curled  waves,  high  as  Jove^s  roof  . 
Your  incivility  shall  show 

That  innocence  is  tempest-proof. 
Though  surly  Nereis  frown,  my  thoughts  are  calm  ; 
Then  strike,  Afdiction,  for  thy  wounds  are  balm. 

That  which  the  world  miscalls  a  gaol, 

A  private  closet  is  to  me, 
Whilst  a  good  conscience  is  my  bail, 

And  innocence  my  liberty. 
Locks,  bars,  walls,  leanness,  though  together  met, 
Make  me  no  prisoner,  but  an  anchoret.    .    .    • 

Have  you  not  seen  the  nightingale, 

A  pilgrim  cooped  into  a  cage, 
And  heard  her  tell  her  wonted  tale, 

In  that  her  narrow  hermitage  ? 
Even  then  her  charming  melody  doth  prove 
That  ail  her  bars  are  trees,  her  cage  a  grove. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAELES  II, 


403 


I  am  the  bird  whom  they  combine 

Thus  to  deprive  of  liberty; 
But  though  they  do  my  corps  confine, 

Yet,  maugre  hate,  my  soul  is  free  ; 
And  though  I'm  mured,  yet  I  can  chirp  and  sing, 
Disgrace  to  rebels,  glory  to  my  king  ! " 

L'Estrange  at  length  recovered  his  liberty,  and  had  the 
good  sense  to  keep  free  of  political  turmoil  until  the 
Eestoration.      In    1663    he   was   appointed  licenser    or 
censor    of    the  press,   and  received  a  monopoly  of  the 
printing  and  publication  of  news.     Of  this  monopoly  he 
availed  himself  to  produce   his   newspaper,    The    Public 
Intelligencer,  which,    in    1679,    was    succeeded    by    the 
Ohservator.      He  published   also   an  interminable   series 
of  pamphlets,  in  which  he  appeared  as  the  swash-buckler 
-of  the  Court,  defending  any  act  of  the  Government  with  a 
prompt  and  audacious  pen— generally  lively  and  vigorous, 
and  always  abusive,  vulgar,  and  unscrupalous.     ''  L'Es- 
trange," says  Macaulay,  "  was  by  no  means  deficient  in 
readiness    and    shrewdness;     and    his    diction,    though 
coarse,  and  disfigured  by  a  mean   and  flippant  jargon 
which  then  passed  for  wit  in  the  green  room  and  the 
tavern,  was  not  without  keenness  and  vigour.     But  his 
nature,   at  once  ferocious  and  ignoble,   showed  itself  in 
every  line  that  he  penned.^^ 

L'Estrange  was  not  without  some  pretensions  to 
scholarship,  and  translated,  effectively  if  roughly,  the 
Tables  of  ^sop,  the  Morals  of  Seneca  (1678),  Cicero's 
Offices  (1680),Quevedo's  Visions,  the  Annals  of  Josephus, 
and  the  Colloquies  of  Erasmus.  He  was  knighted  by 
James  IL,  and  died  in  1704. 

In  reference  to  the  newspapers  of  the  period,  the 
historian  remarks  :^'^  Nothing  like  the  daily  paper  of 


404 


THE   MEKET  MONARCH  ; 


OHT  time  existed  or  could  exist.    Neither  the  necessary 
capital  nor  the  necessary  skill  was  to  he  found.    Freedom 
too  was  wanting,  a  want  as  fatal  as  that  of  either  capital 
or   skill.    The   press  was   not,   indeed,  at  that  moment 
under   a  general  censorship.    The  licensing  act,   which 
had  heen  passed  soon  after  the  Restoration,  had  expired 
in  1679.     Any  person  might  therefore  print,  at  his  own 
risk,  a  history,  a  sermon,  or  a  poem,  without  the  previous 
approhation  of  any  ofEcer  ;  but  the  judges  were  unani- 
mously of  opinion  that  this   liberty  did  not  extend  to 
Gazettes,  and  that,  by  the  common  law  of  England,  no 
man,  not  authorised    by    the    Crown,   had  a   right  to 
publish  political  news.      While  the  Whig  party  was  still 
formidable,  the  Government  thought  it  expedient  occa. 
Bionally  to  connive  at  the  violation  of  this  rule.      During 
the  great  battle  of  the  Exclusion  Bill,  many  newspapers 
were  suffered  to  appear,  the  Protestant  Intelligencer    the 
Current  Intelligence,  the  Domestic  Intelligencer,  the  True 
News    the  London  Mercury.     None  of  these  were  pub- 
lished  of tener   than  twice  a  week.     None    exceeded   in 
size  a  single  small  leaf.     The  quantity  of  matter  which 
one  of  them   contained   in  a  year  was   not  more  than 
is  often  found  in  two  numbers  of  the  Times.     After  the 
defeat  of  the   Whigs   it  was   no    longer  necessary  for 
the    King   to    be   sparing  in    the    use    of    that    which 
all   his  judges   had    pronounced   to    be    his    undoubted 
prerogative.     At  the   close   of  his   reign  no  newspaper 
was    suffered  to    appear    without    his   allowance ;    and 
his   allowance    was   given    exclusively    to    the    London 

Gazette.  _ 

«  The  London  Gazette  came  out  only  on  Mondays  and 


OE,   ENGLAND   TJNDEB  CHAELES   II. 


405 


Thursdays.  The  contents  generally  were  a  royal  proclama- 
tion, two  or  three  Tory  addresses,  notices  of  two  or  three 
promotions,  an  account  of  a  skirmish  between  the  Imperial 
troops  and  the  Janissaries  on  the  Danube,  a  description 
of  a  highwayman,   an   announcement  of  a  grand  cock- 
fight beWeen  two  persons  of  honour,  and  an  advertise- 
ment offering  a  reward  for  a  strayed  dog.     The  whole 
made   up  two  pages   of  moderate  size.     Whatever  was 
communicated  respecting  matters  of  the  highest  moment 
was  communicated  in  the  most  meagre  and  formal  style. 
...  The  most  important  Parliamentary  debates,  the  most 
important   State  trials,  recorded  in    our  history,   were 
passed  over  in  profound  silence.  .  .    In  the  capital  the 
coffee  houses   supplied  in   some   measure  the   place  of 
a  journal.     Thither  the  Londoners  flocked,  as  the  Athe- 
nians of  old  flocked  to  the  market  place,  to  hear  whether 
there   was  any    news.  .  .     But  people  who  lived  at  a 
distance  from  the  great  theatre   of  political   contention 
could  be  regularly  informed  of  what  was  passing  there 
only  by  means  of  news-letters.     To  prepare  such  letters 
became   a  calling  in  London,   as   it  now  is  among  the 
natives  of  India.     The  news  writer  rambled  from  coffee- 
room  to  coffee-room,  coUecting  reports,  squeezed  himself 
into  the  Sessions  House  at  the  Old  Bailey  if  there  was  an 
interesting  trial,  nay,  perhaps  obtained  admission  to  the 
gallery   of  Whitehall,   and  noticed   how  the  King  and 
Duke  looked.     In  this  way   he  gathered  materials   for 
weekly  epistles  destined  to  enlighten  some  county  town 
or  some  bench   of  rustic   magistrates.     Such  were   the 
sources  from  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  largest  pro- 
vincial  cities,   and  the   great  body  of  the   gentry   and 


Iftfiimiiritin  uMiiinmiiriiiiWii'i'i 


406 


THE  MEKEY  MONAECH  : 


clergy,  learned  almost  all  that  they  know  of  the  history 
of  their  own  time."  * 

To  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  belongs  no  inconsiderable 
portion   of  the   religious   meditations    and   philosophical 
researches  of  Eobert  Boyle.     The  son  of  Richard  Boyle, 
Earl  of  Cork,  he  was  born  at  Lismore  in  1027.      He  was 
educated  at  Eton  and  Geneva ;  travelled  through  Italy, 
returned  to  England   soon  after   his  father's  death  (in 
1643);   and  with  his   widowed  sister,   Lady    Eanelagh, 
taking  charge  of  his  household,  devoted  himself  to  study 
and  e^specially  to  the  practical  application  of  the  experi- 
mental sciences.  Chemistry  and  Natural  Philosophy.      At 
his  house  assembled  the  professors  of  the  new  philosophy, 
whose  co-operation  resulted   in   the  foundation    of   the 
Eoyal  Society,  and  Boyle  was  not  only  one  of  its  most 
active  members,  but  a  frequent  contributor  to  its  "  Philo- 
sophical Transactions." 

In  1660,  Boyle  appeared  as  an  author,  publishing  a 
letter  on  «  Seraphic  Love,"  in  which  he  expounded  some 
of  the  principles  of  English  Platonism,  as  approved  by 
its  apostle,  Henry  More.  Soon  afterwards  he  issued 
an  interesting  scientific  treatise,  "New  Experiments 
Physico-mechanical,  touching  the  Spring  of  the  Air 
and  its  EfBects,  made  for  the  most  part  in  a  New 
Pneumatical  Engine  "-this  engine  being  Otto  Guericke's 
air-pump,  greatly  enlarged  by  Boyle,  with  the  help  of  his 
■  friend  and  assistant,   Eobert  Hooke.     In  the   following 

.  The  elder  Disreali  observes  that  "  Sir  Boger  ^^^^^^  ^^^ 
rivale.  was  esteemed  as  the  most  perfect  mode  of  I""*  ?*'  ,.  J  tem  to 
tem  ,er  of  the  man  was  factious,  and  the  compositions  ol  the  autlM  r  .eem  to 
rc'cirrst  hut  I  suspect  they  contain  much  idiomat.c  exp.e.K,n^  H.  ^,o,>B 
Fables   are  a  curious  specimen  of   familiar  ^tjie.    yuet  } 

a  due  contempt  of  him  after  the  Revolution,  by  this  anagram  .- 

"  Koger  L'Estrange, 
Lye  strange  Roger !  " 


OR,  ENGLAND  rNDEB  CHAELES  II. 


407 


year  he  published  some  clear  and  intelligent  considera- 
tions on  the  conduct  of  experiments,   and  the  results 
of  his   persevering  inquiry,    in   "Certain    Physiologica,! 
Essays  "  This  was  followed  by  "The  Sceptical  Chemist, 
directed  against  those   self-sufficient    philosophers   who 
professed  to  find  the  true   principles  of  things  m   salt, 
sulphur,  and  mercury.    He  gave  to  the  world,  in  1663, 
«  Some  Considerations  touching  the  Usefulness  of  Ex- 
perimental Natural  Philosophy,"  «  Experiments  and  Con- 
Biderations  touching  Colours,"  and  "Considerations  touch- 
ing the  Stvle  of  the  Holy  Scriptures."    His  scientific  work 
has  a  much  more  definite  value  than  his  theological,  which 
is  often  jejune  and  commonplace;  and  his  "Occasional 
Reflections  upon  Several  Subjects :  whereto  is  premised 
a  Discourse  about  such  kind  of  Thoughts,"  was  admir- 
ably ridiculed  by  Swift  in  his  "  Meditations  on  a  Broom- 
stick "    It  is  only  fair  to  add,  however,   that  this  was 
written  in  his  youth-to  use  his  own   expression,   "  m 
his  infancy  "-though  not  published  until  1665.    It  would 
have  been   better  for  Boyle's    fame   if    he  had    never 

published  it  at  all. 

Passinc'  over  the  minor  works  which  flowed  from  his 
indefatigable    pen,    we   may    note  his   "Excellency    of 
Theology  compared  with  Natural  Philosophy,   as  both 
axe  the  Objects  of  Men's  Study"  (1674),  and  his  "Con- 
siderations   about  the  Reconcilableness   of   Reason   and 
Religion  "  (1075).     These  are  both  written  in  the  devout 
strain  natural  to  a  man  of  his  sincere  and  simple  piety, 
whose  pure  and  noble  life  was   inspired  throughout  by 
a  reverent  sense  of  the  Divine   Love.     Boyle  refused  to 
.    take  orders  because,  he  said,  he  could  serve  reUgion  more 
effectually  as  a  layman,  and  because,  we  imagine,  his 


408 


THE  MEEET   MONAECH  ; 


humility   shrank  from  the  acceptance  of  so  high  a  re- 
sponsibility.   He  printed  at  his  own  cost  Dr.  Pocock's 
translation  into  Arabic  of  the  "  De  Veritate  of  Grotin's," 
and  sent  out  a  large  number  of  copies  for  free  distribution 
in  the  Levant.   He  also  printed  an  Irish  Bible.   He  was  the 
first  governor  of  a  corporation  for  the  Propagation  of  the 
Gospel;  and  as  a  director  of  the  East  India  Company 
strongly  advocated  the  duty  of  combining  the  diffusion  of 
Christian  truth  with  the  extension  of  commercial  interest. 
For  six  years  he  supplied  Burnet  with  the  means  of  pre- 
paring and  publishing  the  first  volume  of  his  "  History  of 
the  Eeformation."    Though  a  Churchman,  he  was  a  de- 
fender of  the  principle  of  religious  tolerance.   He  declined 
the  Presidency  of  the  Royal  Society  in  1G80,  because  he 
objected  to  the  oaths  required   of  whomsoever  accepted 
the   of&ce;  he   also    dechned  the   Provostship  of  Eton, 
and   more   than  once   refused   a   peerage.      His  life  of 
quiet    study,    persevering    research,    simple    piety,    and 
active  charity— he  gave  to  the  poor  a  thousand  pounds 
annually  -  came    to    a    peaceful    close    in    December, 

1691. 

To  the  works  already  mentioned  as  written  by  this 
amiable  Christian  philosopher  we  must  add—"  Considera- 
tions on  the  Style  of  the  Holy  Scriptures ; "  "A  Free 
Discourse  against  Customary  Swearing ;  "  "A  Discourse 
of  Things  above  Reason ; "  "A  Discourse  of  the  High 
Veneration  Man's  Intellect  owes  to  God,  particularly  for 
His  Wisdom  and  Power;"  "A  Disquisition  into  the 
Final  Causes  of  Natural  Things ;  "  and  "  The  Christian 
Virtuoso,  showing  that,  by  being  addicted  to  Experi- 
mental Philosophy,  a  Man  is  rather  assisted  than  in- 
disposed to  be  a  Good  Christian." 


OE,    ENGLAND   TTNDEE   CHAELES    II. 


409 


Some  of  our  readers  may  be  familiar,  perhaps,  with  the 

following  passage : — 

«  Let  us  consider  the  works  of  God,  and  observe  the 
•operations  of  his  hands  :  let  us  take  notice  of  and  admire 
his  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness   in  the  formation  of 
them.     No  creature  in  this  sublunary  world  is  capable  of 
so  doing  beside  man ;  yet  we   are  deficient   herein :  we 
content  ourselves  with  the  knowledge   of   the   tongues, 
and  a  little  skill  in  philology,  or  history  perhaps,   and 
antiquity,   and  neglect  that  which  to   me   seems  more 
material,    I    mean    natural  history    and  the  works   of 
creation.    I  do  not  discommend  or  derogate  from  those 
other  studies ;  I  should  betray  mine  own  ignorance  and 
weakness  should  I  do  so;  I   only  wish  they  might  not 
altogether  jostle  out  and  exclude  this.     I  wish  that  this 
mi-ht  be  brought  in  fashion   among  us ;  I  wish  men 
would  be  so  equal  and  civil,  as  not  to  disparage,  deride, 
and  vilify  those  studies  which  themselves  skill  out  of,  or 
are  not  conversant    in.     No    knowledge    can  be   more 
pleasant  than  this,  none  that  doth  so  satisfy  and  feed  the 
soul;  in  comparison  whereto  that  of  words  and  phrases 
seems  to  me  insipid  and  jejune.     That  learning,  saith  a 
wise  and  observant  prelate,  which  consists  only  in  the 
form  and  prelagogy  of  arts,  or  the  critical  notion  upon 
words  and  phrases,  hath  in  it  this  intrinsical  imperfec- 
tion, that  it  is  only  so  far  to  be  esteemed  as  it  conduceth 
to  the  knowledge  of  things,  being  in  itself  but  a  kind  of 
pedantry,  apt  to  infect  a  man  with  such  odd  humours 
of  pride,  and  affectation,  and  curiosity,  as  will  render  him 
unfit  for  any  great  employment.     Words  being  but  the 
ima-es  of  matter,  to  be  wholly  given  up  to  the  study  of 
.thes°e,  what  is  it  but  Pygmalion's  frenzy  to  fall  m  love 


M 


410 


THE  MEBBT  MONARCH; 


with  a  picture  or  image.  As  for  oratory,  wticli  is  the 
best  skill  about  words,  that  hath  by  some  wise  men  beeu 
esteemed  but  a  voluptuary  art,  like  to  cookery,  which 
spoils  wholesome  meats,  and  helps  unwholsome,  by  the 
variety  of  sauces,  serving  more  to  the  pleasure  of  taste 
than  the  health  of  the  body." 

This  is  one  of  the  earliest  incentives  and  encourage- 
ments to   the   study  of  Nature   to  be  met  with  in  our 
literature,  and  it  proceeded  from  the  pen  of  John  Eay, 
whose  whole  life  was  devoted  to  this  study,  and  to  the 
application   of    it  as   an   evidence  of  the   truth   of  the 
Christian  Revelation.      Natural  theology  is  outlined— or, 
rather,   its  principles   are   suggested— in   the    works   of 
Cudworth,  Henry  More,  and  Boyle ;  but  it  first  assumed 
a  definite  form  as  a  branch  of  Christian  Apologetics  in 
Ray's  treatise,  published  in  1671,  on  "The  Wisdom  of 
God  Manifested   in    the   Works  of  the    Creation."      A 
quarter  of  a  century  later  the  argument  was  taken   up 
and  expounded  by  Denham  in  his  "  Physico-theology » 
and  "  Astro-theology ; "  and  in  the  second  year  of  the 
present  century    it    was    popularised    by   Paley   in   his 
"Natural  Theology."    It   has   not,    perhaps,   the  value 
which  was   at  one  time  attached  to  it  by  divines ;  but 
it  must   always  be  interesting,   and  the  name  of  John 
Ray  should,  therefore,  be  remembered  with  respect. 

Ray  studied  Nature  for  practical  purposes  also.  He 
was  the  most  eminent  botanist  of  his  age,  and  un- 
questionably one  of  the  founders  of  the  science.  His 
two  folios  "Historia  Plantarum,"  form  a  monument 
of  well-directed  labour— of  keen  observation,  quick  per- 
ception, and  untiring  industry— fully  justifying  the 
eulogium  on  its  writer  pronounced    by  White    of  Sel- 


OE,  ENGLAND  rNDEE  CHAKLES  11.         4 

fcorne:-«Onr  countryman,  the  excellent  Mr.  Ray,  is 
th  only  describer  that  conveys  some  precise  idea  in  every 
term  or  word,  maintaining  his  superiority  over  his 
followers  and  imitators,  in  spite  of  the^  advantage  of 
fresh  discoveries  and  modern  information." 

John  Rav  was  the  son  of  a  blacksmith,  and  born  at 
Black  Notky,  in  Essex,  in    1628.     He  was  educated  at 
Braintree  Grammar  School,  and  thence  removed  to  Cam- 
brid<re,  where  he  obtained  a  fellowship  at  Trinity.     In 
1651  he  was  appointed  Greek  Lecturer  of  his  college,  and 
afterwards  Mathematical  Reader.  His  botanical  researches 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  country  were 
gathered  up  in  his  Latin  "Catalogue  of  the  Plants  of 
England  and  the  adjacent    Isles,"   published   m    1670 
Another  of  his  more  notable  works  was  his  "  Collection  of 
Proverbs,  with  Short  Annotations,"  given  to  the  world 
in  the  same  year.     At  the  age  of  45,  he  married  a  lady 
twenty-four  years  younger  than  himself;  and  settling  in 
his  native  place  lived  there  a  life  of  unassuming  piety  tiU 

his  death  in  1705. 

We  must  pass  over  with  a  reference  the  names  of  the 
first  English  writers  on  Political  Economy,  such  as  Sir 
Josiah  Child  (1630-1699),  who  published  in  1608  a     New 
Discourse  on  Trade;  "  and  Sir  William  Petty  (023-1 087), 
the  physician,  and  fonnder  of  the  noble  family  of  Lans- 
downe,  who,  about  the  same  time,  compiled  his  treatise 
«  On  Taxes  and  Contributions."     The  greatest  physician 
of  the  period  was  Thomas    Sydenham,    who,  breakmg 
loose  from  the  antiqnated  traditions  of  the  old  school  of 
empirics,  applied  to  the  treatment  of  disease  the  results 
of  careful  observation  and  individual  diagnosis.  His  great 
principle  is  now  accepted  as  the  very  foundation  of  the 


'^^*#©JF^'-«-* 


412 


THE   MEERY  MONARCH; 


therapeutic  art:  that  we  must  follow  and  encourage  the 
processes  by  which  Nature  relieves  herself  of  a  disease, 
or  else  discover  a  speciEc.  In  the  treatment  of  fevers 
he  was  the  first  English  physician  who  made  large  use 
of  Peruvian  bark,  or  cinchona.  He  likewise  introduced 
a  much-needed  reform  into  the  treatment  of  smallpox. 
He  was  born  in  1624,  and  died  in  1689.  .    ^     ..  , 

We  have  left  to  the  last  the  greatest  name  in  Englisli 
Science,  that  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton.     It  is  impossible  for 
us  to  do  justice  to  the  noble  work  which  has  Placed  him 
foremost   among  the    philosophers   of    aU   time       That 
work,  to  be  estimated  aright,  must  be  studied  in  his  own 
xnarveUous  writings,  or  in  the  comments  of  his  followers 
and  disciples,   and   especially    in  Sir    David   Brewster  s 
«'  Life  of  Newton."     A  succinct   summary  of   his   great 
discoveries  is  provided  in  his  epitaph  :-"  Here  lies  buried 
Isaac    Newton,   Knight,  who,    with  an    almost    divine 
energy   of  mind,   guided  by  the  light  of    mathematics 
purely  his   own,   first   demonstrated    the    motions    and 
Lures  of  the  planets,  the  paths  of  comets,  and  the  causes 
of  the  tides  ;  who  discovered,  what  before  his  time  no  one 
had   ever   suspected,  that  rays  of  light  are   differently 
refrangible,   and    that  is    the    cause   of  colours        The 
epitaph  proceeds  to  define   the  philosopher's    character. 
He  was  «  a  diligent,  penetrating,  and  faithful  inteirreter 
of  nature,  antiquity,   and   the   sacred  writings.    In  his 
philosophy,  he  maintained  the  majesty  of  the  Supreme 
Being ;   in  his  manners  he  expressed  the  simplicity  of  the 
Gospel.    Let  mortals  congratulate  themselves  that  the 
world  has  seen  so  great  and  excellent  a  man,  the  glory  ot 

human  nature." 
In  a  hackneyed  Hue  Young  has  told  us  that 

"  An  undevout  astronomer  is  mad." 


OB,   ENGLAKD  TJNDEE   CHARLES  II. 

Nosuch  aberration  aflictedthe  reverent  genius  of  Sir  Isaac 
Newton,  whose  simple  piety  shed  a  pure  and  beautiful 
li.ht  over  his  whole  life.     He  looked  through  Nature  up 
t:Nature's  God,  and  every  fresh  advance  that  he  made  ui 
a  knowledge  of  the  mysteries  of  creation  ^^^^^^^^^ 
his  faith  in  the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  its  Creator.    His 
religious  belief  is  thus  stated  by  himself  in  an  mteres  mg 
document  first  published  by  Sir  David  B-ster  -d  w 
give  it  here   because   it  contrasts  so  forcibly  with    he 
extravagance  of  modern  sciolists  and  their  cant  about  the 
Unknowable  and  the  Unconditioned  :— 

« 1  There  is  one  God  the  Father,  ever-living,  omni- 
present;  omniscient,  almighty,  the  maker  of  heaven  and 
Lrth,  and  one  Mediator  between  God  and  man,  the  man 

Christ  Jesus.  ,    ,, 

«  2    The  Father  is  the  invisible  God  whom  no  eye  hath 

All  r.+Vif>r  bein"-s  are  sometimes 
seen,  nor  eye  can  see.    All  other  Dein^s 

*     *  1  1 

^' "  S^The  Father  hath  life  in  Himself,  and  hath  given  the 

Son  to  have  life  in  Himself. 
"4   The  Father  is  omniscient,  and  hath  all  know  edge 

originally  in  His  own  breast,  and  communicates  knowledge 
of  future' things  to  Jesus  Christ;  -^  —  ^-;- 
eaith,  or  under  the  earth,  is  worthy  to  receive  know  edge 
Z  f uLre  things  immediately  from  the  Fat  er,  bu    th 
Lamb.     And,  therefore,  the   testimony   of   Jesus  is  the 
%  of  prophecy,  and  Jesus  is  the  Word  or  Prophet  of 

^°«  5  The  Father  is  immovable,  no  place  being  capable  of 
becoming  emptier  or  fuller  of  Him  than  it  is  by  the  ete^na^ 
necessity  of  nature.  All  other  things  are  movable  fiom 
place  to  place. 


M-iA  THE   MEBEY   MONARCH  J 

<.6.  AU  the  worship-whether  of  prayer,  Praise,  or 
thanksgiving-wHch  was  due  to  the  Father  before  the 
coming  of  Christ,  is  still  due  to  Him.  Christ  came  notto 
diminish  the  worship  of  His  Father. 

«  7.  Prayers  are  most   prevalent  when  directed  to  tue 

Father  in  the  name  of  the  Son. 

«  8.  We  are  to  return  thanks  to  the  Father  alone  for 
creating  us,  and  giving  us  food  and  -iment  and  other 
blessings  of  this  life,  and  whatsoever  we  are  to  thank  Him 
for,  or  desire  that  He  would  do  for  us,  we  ask  of  Hun 
immediately  in  the  name  of  Christ. 

«  9.  We  need  not  pray  to  Christ  to  intercede  for  us.     If 
we  pray  the  Father  aright,  He  will  intercede. 

» 10    It  is  not  necessary  to  salvation  to  direct  our  prayers 
to  any  other  than  the  Father  in  the  name  of  the  Son. 

» 11  To  give  the  name  of  God  to  angels  or  kings,  is  not 
agains't  the  First  Commandment.  To  give  the  worship  of 
the  God  of  the  Jews  to  angels  or  kings,  is  against  it. 
The  meaning  of  the  commandment  is,  Thou  shalt  worship 

no  other  God  but  me.  ,     ^  ,,        ^f  whom 

«12  To- us  there  is  but  one  God,  the  Father,  of  Whom 
are  all  things,  and  one  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  by  Whom  are  all 
aie  a,ii         o  '  ^    vvorship  the 

things  and  we  by  Him.    That  is,  we  are  ^, 

Father  alone  as  God  Almighty,  and  Jesus  alone  as  the 
Lord,  the  Messiah,  the  Great  King,  the  Lamb  o  God  Who 

,  •  1  i,.,H,   redeemed  us  with  His  blood,  and 

•was  slain,  and  luitli  uueemcu 

made  us  kings  and  priests." 

Newton  was  born  at  Woolsthorpe,  in  Lincolnshire,  on 
Christmas  Day,  1C42.    In  his  childhood  he  showed  a  strong 
L  towards  the  mechanical  and  -f  emf  ical  ^n^es 
He  received  his  early  education  at  the  Grantham  G  amm 
School,  but  at  the  age  of  fifteen  was  removed  to  take  charge 


OB,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


415 


I 


-of  the  home  farm  on  his  father's  small  estate.    His  in- 
competency for  this   kind  of  work,   however,  was  soon 
apparent,  and  he  was  sent  back  to  school  to  fulfil  the 
destiny  marked  out  for  him.    Admitted   as   a  sizar  to 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  in  1661,  he  became  a  Junior 
Fellow  in  1667,  and  M.A.  in  1668.     In  the  following  year 
he  succeeded  Dr.  Baum  in  the  Mathematical  professorship. 
In  1672  he  was  admitted  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society, 
and  communicated  to  it  his  new  theory  of  Light,  which 
revolutionized  the  science  of  Optics.     He  was  several  times 
returned  to  Parliament  as  a  member  for  the  University 
which  his   genius  adorned.     In  1695  his  great  services 
were  recognized  by  Government,  who  made  hiin  Warden 
of  the  Mint,  and  in  1703  by  his  scientific  brethren,  who 
elected  him  President  of  the  Koyal    Society.     In    1705 
Queen  Anne  bestowed  upon  him  the  honour  of  knight- 
hood.    He  lived  into  the  last  year  of  the  reign  of  George 
I.,  dying  on  the  20th  of  March,  1727,  scarcely  three  months 
before  the  King,  at  the  venerable  age  of  84. 

To  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  belong  his  two  great  dis- 
coveries, that  of  a  new  theory  of  Light,  and  that  of  the 
law  of   Gravitation  ;  but  it  was  not  until  1 6S7  that  he 
published  the   "  Philosophite  Naturales  Principia  Mathe- 
matica,"  in  which  he  revealed  the  secret  of  the  power  that 
binds  together  the   several  parts  of  the  universe.    The 
results  of  his  minute  optical  investigations  were  embodied 
in  his  elaborate    treatise,  published  in   1704,   "  Optics : 
or,  a  Treatise  of  the  Eefractions,  Inflections,  and  Colours 
of  Light."     He  was  the  author  also  of  several  profound 
mathematical  works,  and  to  his  close  study  of  the  Hebrew 
prophets  we  owe  his  "  Observations  upon  the  Prophecies 
of  Holy  Writ,  particularly  the  Prophecies  of  Daniel,  and 


j|g  THE    MEEEY   MONAECH ; 

1  f  Q4-    TnVin  "     His  ''  Historical  Account 

the  Apocalypse  of  St.  John.       ms  „  „  ^  i,    ^7 

of  Two  Notable  Corruptions  of  Scripture'    (1  John  v.  7 
and  1  Tim.  iii.  16)  testifies  to  the  vigour  and  persistency  of 

his  Scriptural  studies.  . 

Newton  made  two  important  contributions  to  C Wxst^, 
which  constitute,  as  it  were,  the  foundation-stones  o  its 
two  great  divisions.  The  first  was  pointing  out  a  method 
of  graduating  thermometers,  so  that  compansons  wxA 
each  other  might  be  possible  in  whatever  part  of  thew  rM 
observations  with  them  were  made.  The  second  was  by 
indicating  the  nature  of  chemical  affinity,  and  showmg 
inaicauio  o+f^pHon  bv  which  the  consti- 

that  it  consisted  m  an  attraction  by  wn 

tuents  of  bodies  were  drawn  '<^-!^^'\'^^\'^^/;t 
^ted ;  "  thus  destroying  the  previous  ^y^ot^^^l^J^'^^ 
hooks,  and  points,  and  rings,  and  wedges,  by  means  of 
wlich  the  different  constituents  of  bodies  were  conceived 

to  be  kept  to^^ether." 

The  last  name  we  shall  mention  in  our  hasty  retrospect 
is   that   of   Sir  Thomas  Browne,  the  Norwich  physician 
author  of  the  "  Eeligio  Medici"    (Religion  of   a  Physi- 
c^TlC^2.,  "Pseudodoxia  Epidemica  "   (Epidemic  False 
Doc  rines)   or"Inquiriesinto Vulgar andCommonErrors, 
Doctrines),  or    x    i  -Rni-ial-    a  Discourse 

1646;  and  «  Hydriotaphia,  or  Urn  ^""f '    * 
on  the  Symbolical  Urns  lately  found  in  Norfolk,    1658 
to  which  is  appended  "The  Garden  of  Cyrus-,    or    The 
o^nl    T.ozen<re     or    Network    Plantations  of    the 
Quincuncial   Lozenge,    o  ^^,^.,,1,^1^ Considered." 

Ancients,  artificially,  naturally,  and  mj  sticaiiy  ^o 
Browne  who  obtained  his  doctor's  degree  at  Leyden,  sett  ed 
Ta  redical  practitioner  at  Norwich,  and  lived  there  a  He 
of    quiet  usefulness   and   learned  retirement.     He  wa. 
knighted  in  the  reign  of  Charles  II. 

Few  of  our  writers  have  more  successfully  embodied 


OK,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHARLES  II. 


417 


grave  and  earnest  thought  in  language  of  singular  rich- 
ness  and   dignity.     On  all    his   works  he  impresses  the 
seal  of  his  own  individuality,  and  we  are  thus   brought 
acquainted  with  a  fine  nature  and  an  inquiring  intellect, 
which  invariably  aims  at  lofty  objects,  though  sometimes 
led  astray  by  a  weakness  for  fanciful  speculation.     Cole- 
ridge happily  describes  him  as  "rich  in  various  knowledge, 
exuberant   in   conceptions   and   conceits ;    contemplative, 
imaginative,  often  truly  great  and  magnificent  in  his  style 
and  diction,  though  doubtless,  too  often   big,  stiff,   and 
hyper-Latinistic,     He  is  a  quiet  and  sublime  enthusiast, 
with  a    strong  tinge  of  the  fantast :  the  humorist  con- 
stantly mingling   with,  and  flashing  across,  the  philoso- 
pher, as  the  darting  colours  in  shot-silk  play   upon  the 
main  dye."     He  belongs  to  the  older  school  of  writers^ 
who  had  always  something  to  say,  and  each  of  whom  said 
it  in  his  own  manner — original,  independent,  self-reliant. 
He  spake  out  of  his  fulness,  and  all  his  utterances  were 
worth  listening  to  because  they  were  the  utterances  of  a 
ripe  and  excellent  genius,  fed  by  observation,  reflection, 

and  study. 

His  characteristics  are  best  appreciated  from  a  careful 
study  of  the  "  Religio  Medici,''  which  has  a  remarkable 
psychological  interest  in  the  frankness  of  its  self-revela- 
tions;  but  his  other  works  also  abound  in  evidence  of 
the  fulness  and  forcibleness  of  his  intellectual  gifts.  They 
are  sufGiciently  accessible,  now-a-days,  to  any  reader ;  but 
we  cannot  deny  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  closing  this 
chapter  with  a  few  quotations  which  shall  illustrate  the 
majestic  beauty  of  his  diction  and  the  elevation  of  his 

thoughts. 

As  a  commentary  on  the  old  text,  Vanitas  Vanitatum, 

VOL.  II.  ^  ^ 


^|g  THE   MEKEY    MONAKCH  ; 

tte  following  passage,  with  its  subdued  pathos  and  stately 
eloquence,  is  admirably  impressive  :- 

.  Darkness  and  light  divide  the  course  of  time    and 
oblivion  shares  with  memory   a  great  P-*  -^  f/^^ 
Uving  beings  ;  we  slightly  remember  our  *«'-;*-'  ^^^^^^ 
smartest  strokes  of  affliction  have  but  short  smart  upon 
us.    Sense  endureth  no  extremities,  and  sorrows  desW 
us  or  themselves.    To  creep  into  stones  are  fables.     Affl^ 
tions  induce  callosities ;  miseries  are  slippery,  or  faU^Uke 
snow  uponupon  us,  which,  notwithstanding,  is  no  unh  ppy 
stupidity.    To  be  ignorant  of  evils  to  come,  and  f oi  getf u 
of  evils  past,  is  a  merciful  provision  in  nature  whei^by  w 
digest  the  mixture  of  our  few  and  evil  days ;   and  our 
aelivered  senses  not  relapsing  into  cutting  .me— ^^ 
our  sorrows  are  not  kept  raw  by  the  edge  oi  repe 
A  great  part  of  antiquity  contented  their  hopes  of  sub- 
sisting  with  a  transmigration  of  their  -^-^  J^^ J^^ 
to  continue  their  memories,  while,  having  the  advantage 
of  plural  successions,  they  could  not  but  act  something 
remarkable  in  such  variety  of  beings ;  and  enjoying    he 
fame  of  their  passed  selves,  make  accumulation  of  gbn  s 
unto  their  last  durations.     Others,  rather  than  be  lost  m 

the  uncomfortable  night  of  -t^^^' -^^^'^.^'tre  nubUc 
into  the  common  being,  and  make  one  particle  of  the  pubhc 
soul  of  all  things,  which  was  no  more  than  to  return  into 
tiieir  unknown  and  divine  original  again.  Egypt-n  ing  ' 
unity  was  more  unsatisfied,  contriving  their  bodies  n 
nuiiy    vvu,  _„i-„rn   of  their  souls, 

sweet  consistencies  to   attend  the  leturn  o 

But  all  was  vanity,  feeding  the  --^  "'  ^^^^^^^  J^, 
Egyptian  mummies  which  Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared, 
avarice  now  consumeth.    Memory  is  become  ^^-^^ ; 
Myzraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for  balsams. 


OE,  ENGLAND  UNDER  CHAKLES  II. 


419 


A  beautiful  thought  upon  Light  :— 
« Light,  that  makes  things   seen,  makes  some  things 
invisible.    Were  it  not  for  darkness,  and  the  shadow   of 
the   earth,  the  noblest  part  of   creation  had  remained 
unseen,  and  the  stars  of  heaven  as  invisible  as  on  the 
fourth  day,  when  they  were  created  above  the  horizon 
with  the  sun,  and  there  was  not  an  eye  to  behold  them. 
The  greatest  mystery  of  religion  is  expressed  by  adum- 
bration, and  in  the  noblest  part  of  Jewish  types  we  find 
the  cherubim  shadowing  the  mercy-seat.      Life  itself  is 
but  the   shadow   of   death,   and  souls  departed  but  the 
shadows  of  the  living.     All  things  fall  under  this  name. 
The  sun  itself  is  but  the  dark  Simulacrum;  and  hfe  but 
the  shadow  of  God." 
Art  and  Nature  — 
■   «  Nature  is  not  at  variance  with  art,  nor  Art  with  Nature 
—they  being  both  the  servants  of  His  providence.    Art  is 
the  perfection  of  Nature.      Were  the  world  now  as  it  was 
the  sixth  day,  there  were  yet  a  chaos.    Nature  hath  made 
one  world  and  Art  another.     In  belief,  all  things  are  arti- 
ficial, for  Nature  is  the  Art  of  God." 
Study  of  Nature  :— 

«« Tlie  world  was  made  to  be  inhabited  by  beasts,  but 
studied  and  contemplated  by  man ;  it  is  the  debt  of  our 
reason  we  owe  unto  God,  and  the  homage  we  pay  for  not 
beincr  beasts  ;  without  this,  the  world  is  still  as  though  it 
had  not  been,  or  as  it  was  before  the  sixth  day,  when  as 
yet  there  was  not  a  creature  that  could  conceive  or  say 
there  was  a  world.  The  wisdom  of  God  receives  small 
honour  from  those  vnlgar  heads  that  rudely  stare  about, 
and  with  a  gross  rusticity  admire  His  works  ;  those 
hi-hly  magnify  Him  whose  judicious  inquiry  into  His  acts, 


.  ^  *-'J 


420 


THE  MEKEY  MONARCH. 


and  deliberate  research  into  His  creatures,  return  the  duty 

of  a  devout  and  learned  admiration." 

In  a  wise  largeness  of  soul  he  writes  of  Charity  :— 

"  I  hold  not  so  narrow  a  conceit  of  this  virtue  as  to 

4-i,„+  +-^  o-ivp  nlms    is  onlv  to  be  charitable,   or 
conceive  that  to  give  aims    is  un  j  4.  +  i     f 

think  a  piece  of  liberality  can  comprehend  the  total  ot 
charity.    Divinity  hath  wisely  divided   the  acts   thereof 
into  many  branches,  and  hath  taught  us  in  this  narrow 
way  manv  paths  unto  goodness  :  as  many  ways  as  we  may 
do  good, 'so  many  ways  we  may  be  charitable;  there  are 
infirmities,  not  only  of  body,  but  of    soul  and  fortunes 
which  do  require  the  merciful  hand  of  our  abilities     I 
cannot  contemn  a  man  for  ignorance,  but  behold  him  with 
as  much  pity  as  I  do  Lazanis.     It  is  no  greater  chanty 
to  clothe  his  body,  than  apparel  the  nakedness  of  his  soul. 
It  is  an  honourable  object  to  see  the  reasons  of  other  men 
wear  our  liveries,  and  their  borrowed  understandings  do 
homage  to  the  bounty  of  ours.     It  is  the  cheapest  way  of 
beneficence;   and,  like  the  natural   charity   of  the   sun, 
illuminates  another  without  obscuring  itself.    To  be  re- 
served and  caitiff  in  this  part  of  goodness,  is  the  sordidesb 
piece  of  covetousness,  and  more  contemptible  than  pecu- 
niary avarice.     To  this,  as  calling  myself  a  scholar,  I  am 
oblic^ed  by  the  duty  of  my  condition:  I  make  not,  there- 
fore^ my  head  a  grave,  but  a  treasure  of  knowledge:  I 
intend  no  monopoly, but  acommunity  inlearning;  I  study 
not  for  my  own  sake  only,  but  for  theirs  that  study  not  for 
themselves.    I  envy  no  man  that  knows  more  than  myself, 
but  pity  them  that  know  less." 

THE   END. 


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